


Beautiful Monster

by LadyLoec



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, MAAS Sarah J. - Works
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Past Abuse, Scars, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:38:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 29,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLoec/pseuds/LadyLoec
Summary: When Azriel encounters a mysterious fae female in the course of a mission, his life as he knows it will change forever.





	1. A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> (With one notable exception, the characters and setting aren't mine - I'm just playing in Sarah's sandbox for a while. I also started writing pre-ACOFAS, so bear that in mind when Rhys and Feyre are mentioned)
> 
> Let me begin by saying that I usually don't like original characters added to existing fandoms, but I'm making an exception for our favourite Shadowsinger. With his unrequited feelings for Mor, Elain is the only romantic option Sarah has openly put on the table for him at the moment, and while I think her lightness is good for him, I just don't think she has the capacity to handle Az's darker side... So I created someone who can. I hope you enjoy getting to know her as much as I did. Here's their journey.

The mist caressed his wings and the earthy scent of the forest wrapped around Azriel in a comforting embrace as he flew over the steppes. He was alert and focussed on the task at hand, yet took a moment to enjoy the feeling of the sun on his wings and the wind among his shadows: The simple pleasure of flying freely had not yet dimmed, and in the years since he was trapped in Velaris during Amarantha's reign he thought it never would again.

 

His scouts had detected something in the area a few days ago: Something or someone that left no discernable tracks or scent, but the two High Fae corpses they had found left little doubt that something malevolent was lurking.

 

He knew the two fatalities: They were both relatively high-ranking members of the Court of Nightmares. Not that he would particularly mourn either loss - Damon was a licentious and vulgar scoundrel with a penchant for young females (the less willing, the more appealing he found them), and Azriel had long suspected Morian was selling information to Keir to help him gain support against the Court of Dreams. There was no shortage of fae who either of them dead (in fact, Rhysand had asked him to look into 'disposing' of both of them), but neither male had any reason to venture so far from the Hewn City.

 

Above all, what was particularly bothering him was that the bodies had been mutilated. Morian's mouth had been sewn shut - from the look of the wounds, while he was alive - and Damon... well, if he had survived, his days of molesting females would have been over. The mutilations were far from the worst he'd seen, but their nature suggested the killer knew of their transgressions, and that they wanted to send a message. What the message was, and to whom: That was the real mystery. His first priority was to ascertain if there was any threat to his court.

 

He had already visited where the first body had been found, and had confirmed what his scouts had said: No trace whatsoever. Even his shadows hadn't picked anything up - whoever this was, they were skilled. Professional. As he landed in the clearing where the second victim was found, he fanned his shadows out to sense anything unusual. It had taken decades to learn to filter the information they fed him. At first, it had been overwhelming, and as a child he had almost gone insane - alone in his cell and unable to find any reprieve from their incessant, incoherent whispers. Whilst they were still a constant presence, he could now control them well enough to shut out the irrelevant chatter - even silence them completely if he concentrated hard enough. Today, though, he welcomed their counsel: They had found something.

**_East_ **

**_Trees_ **

 

His head whipped around to look for whatever they had seen. The spot was downwind, which was why he hadn't caught any scent. He still couldn't see anything... There. A faint rustle in the branches. He was about to winnow over when a voice rang across the clearing:

"It's about time, I was getting bored. Honestly I expected better from the infamous Shadowsinger of the Night Court. At least you're easy on the eyes."

The voice was taunting, playful... and female. He still couldn't see the source. He remained silent.

"Don't worry, I know better than to expect a witty repartee. You're obviously the strong silent type."

She dropped from the trees then - across the clearing he couldn't see her clearly, but she was tall, red curls bouncing at her shoulders. She wore tight fitting black clothes, something like fighting leathers, but they looked more geared towards flexibility and comfort than protection; they clung to her curves in a way the male gaze couldn't fail to appreciate.

"Another girl might be hurt not to receive a 'thank you' for the gifts, but I guess I should be flattered that you wanted to show me your gratitude in person".

Gifts? Only a truly warped mind could see mangled corpses as gifts.

 

She slowly stalked towards him, looking more jungle cat than fae female. As she got closer, he could see she was attractive - disarmingly so. Her hair blazed like crackling embers, in stark contrast to feline emerald eyes that danced with amusement. She wasn't the kind of beauty you painted, or the kind you envied on another male's arm. She wasn't a beauty that inspired sonnets, or the kind you keep in your thoughts when far from home. No, she was the kind men went to war over. She was the kind men killed for.

"Should I have wrapped them? Or are you just pissed you didn't get to squeeze the life from them yourself."

That snapped him back to reality. She knew too much. How long had she been watching his court? What sources did she have? This was definitely now a 'capture and question' rather than a cleanup.

He kept his voice even. "I can do my own dirty work. Who are you?"

She laughed - a deep, throaty sound. "Don't worry, Shadowsinger, I don't want your job." The way she said it made it sound like there was something she did want, though.

He thumbed Truth-Teller's edge, lowering his eyes to the blade, but still watching the mystery female from the corner of his eye. "Who. Are. You?"

"These are the fearsome interrogation skills that strike fear into the hearts of lesser fae? I'm trembling." She drew twin short blades from holsters on her back. Fine quality steel but with plain, functional handles. She spun her blades twice and dropped effortlessly into a fighting crouch, cocking her head and giving him a smile that could only be described as predatory. "Come on, Shadowsinger. Show me how you impress a girl."

 

He kept his face neutral and echoed her stance: Illyrian blade in one hand, Truth-Teller in another, and siphons flaring briefly in - if he was honest - a slightly indulgent display of power. He didn't know why he reacted to her call to impress her, but apparently he wanted to. His shadows, to his surprise, roiled. Instead of obeying his call, it was as if there were something in them reacting to his opponent.

**_Friend_ **

Friend? His shadows trusted no-one except for him - not even Rhys and Cassian. And the mouthy female brandishing sharp objects at him was the time they chose to be trusting?! Excellent timing. It was enough of a distraction that he almost failed to parry her first strike - a strong blow aimed at his jugular. So well placed was the attack, even given the lack of ash, he would have been lucky not to be mortally wounded. As it was, he deflected the blow enough that it only scratched his cheek. He parried another viper-fast strike - this one aimed for the artery in his thigh, another potential killing blow.

 

They were practically a blur as they fought - Azriel made few attacks of his own, mostly dodging and parrying. She was in too close for him to use his siphons defensively, and he didn't want to risk using them offensively and killing her before he found out what she knew. His shadows were also stubbornly still refusing to cooperate. It had been decades... Centuries since he had struggled like this in a fight. He sent a mental call for backup to Rhys, who always had a gentle tether to his thoughts when he went out alone. He sent basic information only:

 _Could use a hand. One opponent. Skilled. For capture, not kill_.

A sheen of sweat beaded on his skin as he rolled away from a swipe of her leg that could've had him fall prone, but she was already behind him. He rounded and readied himself for another blow, pushing closer to her to reduce the force she could put behind her next strike... And faltered as she brought her lips to meet his.

 

The kiss was like the thunder to the lightning of their battle. Slow and deep and powerful. Another time, another place, he could have lost himself in that kiss, but he knew this was likely a distraction tactic. He forced himself to pull back, and she caught his bottom lip between her teeth as he did. His eyes met hers... and he felt a sudden, earth-shattering snap in his chest. His world was broken apart and remade in that instant as he gazed into those eyes of verdant flame. And he realised in an instant why his shadows had seen her as kin, why they had refused to aid him against this beautiful storm made flesh....

 

Mate.

The assassin was his mate.

 

No, it had to be magic - some kind of trickery. Maybe she was daemati? Before he could react, night swirled into the glade, heralding Rhys' arrival. He used the momentary disorientation to throw himself clear of his ma... his _opponent_. A dramatic crack sounded like the cleaving of worlds as Rhys stepped into the clearing, the darkness rippling in his wake (were he not still dumbfounded, Azriel might have rolled his eyes at the typical theatrics). Rhys cast a worried glance his way for a fraction of a second - Azriel had no doubt he looked a far cry from his usual composed, collected self - before his mask slid into place. He wore his polished court clothes rather than his Illyrian leathers, and his wings were nowhere to be seen. Going for intimidation, then. Rhys appraised the situation with apparent disdain and was no doubt about to say something snide when the assassin dropped her blades and crossed her wrists above her head

"I surrender."

 

Surrender? That was the last thing he had expected. She had fought like a force of nature, and even if she was terrified of Rhys (a probability given his reoutation), her skills indicated she had a fair chance at escape. The coy smile playing on her lips certainly didn't betray any fear - lips that were still swollen and pink from their kiss, but luckily Rhys wasn't as observant as him. Rhys looked over to him with an eyebrow raised in question, and when it became clear he wasn't going to get a response, he approached her, grabbed her arm and winnowed. He'd take her, his mate - no, _not_ his mate - to the dungeons beneath the Hewn City. He touched a hand to the healing scratch on his cheek, then to his lips, where the ghost of her still dwelt. Azriel would be expected to interrogate her, torture her, but whatever magic she had worked on him... He couldn't risk it affecting the safety of his family.

 

He had to tell Rhys.


	2. Inconvenient Truths

Rhys found him on the roof of the townhouse, a tumbler of brandy in his hand. It wasn't his first, but he had mostly kept a clear head - would need it for this conversation. His brother took a seat beside him, looking over the lights of Velaris.

"She won't say anything. Won't even give us her name. She let us search her and chain her up - they pulled enough weapons out of her leathers to put the Darkbringers' arsenal to shame, but doesn't seem inclined to give us anything other than sarcasm and mildly venomous flirting. She has mental shields too - good ones, so must either have some daemati powers, or have trained with one. If she wasn't a murderer and a threat, I might like this female. Seems to have taken a shine to you though - Refuses point blank to speak to anyone else." His face became more serious as he took in Azriel's mood. "What happened today?" Rhys' voice was quiet, no judgement in his tone. Azriel just looked at his feet, shadows flowing freely across his face. "I saw you in that clearing. You looked... This is more than just a fight gone awry, isn't it?"

 

Azriel told him how he'd tracked her, how she'd known of his intentions regarding Damon and Morian, and how she'd fought. He omitted what his shadows had said, and the kiss. "During the fight, she used some kind of magic I have never encountered. It made me feel.. I think she might be some kind of daemati"

Rhys' eyes flashed at that. He only ever entered Azriel's mind with permission, and then only the antechamber he'd set aside for him. He had tried once to invade his mind proper when they were children - and the resulting headache had lasted a week. Apparently, the shadows that held court around Azriel had been only a glimpse of what lay within, and when they spoke to Rhys... well, only a Shadowsinger could hear those voices without consequence. Rhys had been lucky to survive with his sanity intact.

"How did it feel?"

"What do you mean?" He hoped Rhys wouldn't notice he was stalling.

"When we speak mind to mind you feel an... impression of me? A representation." Azriel nodded in confirmation - The ebony talons of Rhys' beast form. He wondered for a moment what his 'representation' might be. "Did you see anything that might give us any information about her?"

A moment of silence while Azriel figured out what to say. Rhys didn't interrupt. "It wasn't like that. I didn't feel her in my mind as such, only that she... planted something there."

Rhys sighed. It didn't sound like any daemati magic he'd ever encountered. "If you can't tell me, can you show me?"

Azriel took a breath. Two. He could trust Rhys with his life.

 

He nodded again, and eased the memory into the antechamber of his mind. He knew Rhys wouldn't judge what he saw, he just hoped he could fix it. Fix him. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor as Rhys walked through the memory, but it didn't take supernatural observational skills to note Rhys' shock and the jolt that went through him - he was obviously feeling things exactly as Azriel had felt them. Rhys' eyes snapped open and those violet eyes shone with silver. Worry coursed through him - perhaps there was nothing that could be done for him. He was on his feet trying to think of what to say when Rhys jumped up and embraced him.

"Brother I'm so happy for you. Why didn't you tell me you found your mate?"

He pushed him off. "Rhys, she's not my mate. It's like I said. Her magic..."

"I'll never forget that feeling for the rest of my days, Az, that was a mating bond. That was real."

"Even if she's my... If it's real, it doesn't make a difference." Rhys' face became more sombre as Azriel spoke, as if the realisation that things weren't that simple was only just dawning on him. "She's a _killer_. She's a threat to us. We don't know why she's here. She could've been sent to kill YOU."

Rhys looked contemplative for a moment. "Then ask her."

"Oh come on, Rhys, you know I can't risk going to her if that's what she wants, especially if it's true."

Rhys looked at Azriel with a small smile like he knew he'd already won the argument. "She's your mate. Don't you even want to know her name?"


	3. The Willing Captive

Azriel paced and wrung his hands, having granted himself a moment to indulge in his inner turmoil before facing the female. His mate, according to Rhys, though he still couldn't (or wouldn't) believe it. He might have actually been trembling - he felt as though his world had been shaken to it's foundations. He had always wished to find his mate, of course. Even if he could put aside the envy he felt when he saw how his High Lord and Lady looked at one another, he thought it might be the only thing that would help him finally close the book on his unrequited affections for Mor. But the heroes of romantic tales were good, well-bred, handsome men, not scarred bastard-born Illyrians who trade in secrets and lies. He hadn't dared to hope for that for himself, and didn't want to think what kind of female might be his equal. He guessed he had found out: A cold-blooded killer. These thoughts were getting him nowhere. Azriel worked on steadying his breathing and quieting his mind, feeling the unshakeable mask slip over his features and the cold settle in his blood. He rolled his neck before opening the door to the cell.

 

Her wrists were bound in shackles above her head, pulling her body taught, yet she still managed to exude a relaxed ease. She met his gaze and flashed a voracious smile when he entered the room that almost made him forget who was in control of the situation.

"Shadowsinger. I had hoped you would come. I was beginning to think that our little tryst in the clearing meant nothing to you."

"I'll admit, your distraction tactic did catch me off guard. Not sure it's one I'll be using myself in future."

Another humourless smile. "A distraction tactic - is that what you've been telling yourself?"

"Enough. What are you doing in Night Court territory?"

"That's not the question you want to ask"

"What. Are. You..."

"That's NOT the question you want to ask"

He struck her then. Hitting her felt like being punched in the gut himself.

She let out a laugh "Do it again, it tickles in the good way"

He struck her harder this time, a small trail of blood leaking from the corner of her still-smiling mouth. Her tongue emerged to lick the blood away.

"I bet you'd be a considerate lover."

He didn't know whether to feel sickened or aroused.

 

She was clearly no stranger to an interrogation room. He couldn't imagine taking a knife to her skin, let alone the plethora of other tortures he'd likely have to use to get her to talk. It was exactly as he had feared: He couldn't be impartial. Someone else would have to take his place. He made to leave the cell.

"A contract."

He stopped short of the door. "What?"

"That's why I'm here. A contract."

An assassin. Well, that much should've been obvious. He looked back at her over his shoulder "On who?"

"Your beautiful High Lady. Perhaps her borrowed powers and unconventional position of power have attracted the wrong sort of attention."

Feyre. Someone had hired an assassin to kill Feyre, and his spies hadn't heard a whisper of it. He cursed silently and turned to face the female. This killer who left mutilated corpses in her wake had set her sights on his High Lady and his friend. He should despise her, should have Truth-Teller gouging portions of her flesh by now, and yet he couldn't.

 

She was talking, openly, without threat or intimidation. Azriel couldn't fathom why - she had laughed off blows that might've shattered a human's jaw without even a wince, so it wasn't the fear of torture or pain. He realised it was to stop him leaving. Still, he wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth: If she was talking, he was listening.

"Who hired you?"

She pursed her lips, as if sensing the change of tact. "If I tell you that, what reason do you have for keeping me alive?"

Because I think you're my mate. Because you intrigue me. Because I'll never forget that kiss as long as I draw breath. "Because you may yet be of use to me."

"Well, doesn't that sound like an interesting prospect. I can't tell you, because I didn't agree to take the contract. Yet."

Azriel's eyes flared at that. She had simply stated it as fact. As if she could just stroll out of here and carry on with her day. The arrogance infuriated him, but again, she gave no indication of anything but honesty: She believed her words.

"It's really a very lucrative contract" She continued. "I'd never have to work again. Could retire to my own sunny isle where handsome winged males bring me wine and attend my every desire." She dared a wink in his direction.

She was trying to get a reaction - rage, incredulity, lust, anything - but he didn't give her the satisfaction.

"That sounds like quite a deal. So why the hesitation? Why the sloppy murders and - what did you call it - the _tryst_?"

"I wanted you to trust me."

"Trust you?!" So she had gotten incredulity out of him after all. "Why on earth would I..."

Her eyes burned into his. "I think you know, Azriel."

 

Hearing her say his name was the strangest feeling. He felt it tug at his very being, at once the most beautiful music to his ears, and also the most tragic - she was cruel, manipulative, vicious, cunning... and undeniably his mate. She also knew about the bond, that much was obvious. He couldn't think straight - he had enough information for now, someone else could pick up where he left off tomorrow. He just had to get out of there. Had to breathe - to taste the skies, clear his head. He made for the door again.

"Eve"

"What?"

"My name. What you came here to find out. It's Eve"

He was down the hall before the door clicked shut.


	4. Meet the Family

After a quick mental conversation to bring Rhys up to speed, he had convened the Inner Circle to discuss the new threat. At Azriel's request, Rhys hadn't told them about the 'complicating factor' of the mating bond - he didn't want their judgement clouded for this discussion.

 

He kept silent while Rhysand recounted the salient details, thankful that he did so in an unemotional manner. Rhys told them he had been called to help Az capture a hostile entity. That she had given up far too easily once Rhys arrived. That she was responsible for the murders Az had been looking in to, and that on interrogation she had admitted to being approached to assassinate Feyre. Amren had been particularly displeased to have her day interrupted, but when told the nature of the threat all complaints were silenced. Even the ever-positive Mor and Cassian looked grim. Elain and Nesta were thankfully absent.

 

"She was going to kill me?" Feyre sounded like she was going to be sick.

Rhys swiftly reassured her. "She never would have gotten close enough, darling"

Cassian huffed a humourless laugh. "While I appreciate you trying to soothe her nerves, I'm not so sure that's true. Azriel couldn't take her down without help, and he can put me on my arse nine times out of ten if the fight's on his terms, which this was. Even then, she gave up almost instantly when Rhys showed up, which definitely smells wrong. "

"Always thinking with your gut and not your head, boy. Most fae without a death wish tend to surrender when opposing a High Lord unassisted" Amren retorted.

"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Amren, but I believe Cassian is right in this instance: She gave up too easily. Azriel was kind enough to share his memories of the skirmish - she was skilled enough that she would have very likely escaped. She knew we wanted her alive. She can also shield her mind, so is either daemati or has trained with one."

That gave the group pause. Mor spoke next. "So we have a captive assassin, who has admitted she is a threat to our High Lady, and from what we can determine she is only in our dungeon because she wants to be. She has given us all the information we think we are going to get out of her. Why keep her alive?"

Azriel's head jerked up at that. Mor was never one to advocate for needless death, but her loyalty to Feyre knew few bounds, even those of her morality apparently. Cassian and Amren nodded their assent. Even Feyre looked as if she considered it their only option.

Rhys spoke. "She has given information relatively freely, if we give her a day or two more..."

Cassian interrupted. "Bullshit, Rhys, it's not worth the risk and you know it"

Rhys cast his eyes to Azriel for fraction of a second. "There is one other factor complicating matters." His meaning was implicit: _You have to tell them,_  

Cassian was too incredulous to note the glance, but Mor saw it. "Az? If there's a good reason we should let her live, now's the time to tell us."

He couldn't. He couldn't say the words. Putting his High Lady's life at risk for his own selfish gain was unthinkable. But Rhys said it for him.

"The assassin is Az's mate."

 

Time seemed to stop as the group took in the news. No one said anything, and the silence was almost unbearable, but he couldn't think of anything meaningful to say. The looks of pity from Mor and Feyre, disbelief from Amren and Cassian... It was all too much. So he said the only thing that he could:

"Her name is Eve".

It was the first time he had said it aloud, and it felt like the answer to five centuries of questions. Mor and Feyre both went to speak at once, but Feyre gestured for Mor to go first.

"How?"

He knew what she meant: How did it happen - Had he been keeping this from them for a while? He had to be honest.

"We fought. She kissed me... I thought I would die from it."

 

There was really nothing else to say. Feyre spoke then. "So we keep her locked up for now. See what progress we can make." He went to object, but she continued. "Azriel, you're part of my family. A family that has brought me so much happiness" She smiled at him. "None of which I would have without my mate. How could I deny you the chance to find out if you could have the same?"

"So what do we do now?" Cassian asked.

"She said she wants me to trust her, but how can I?"

Rhys took up from there. "We know almost nothing about her. I couldn't even place her accent. We need to find out what we can."

A voice that would now forever be familiar to him sounded from the lounge chair in the corner. "All you have to do is ask, I'm a wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve kind of female. Well, I've been known to wear someone's heart on my sleeve, anyway."

 

How she had gotten out of her warded shackles, escaped the Hewn City dungeons, found Velaris, gotten past the obscene amount of protective magic on the House of Wind, and gotten the jump on them all was beyond comprehension. Azriel couldn't move a muscle - too busy fighting to contain his shadows. They had reacted to her arrival with the excitement and glee of a hyperactive puppy, and he could barely keep them from swarming her. The entire room crackled with power as Rhys, Cassian, and even Amren with her newly diminished powers all readied their magic and drew weapons for a fight. Mor eased Feyre behind her, putting her body between her High Lady and the threat.

"Cauldron, you're a jumpy lot. Relax, if I wanted her dead, she would already be bleeding out by now." She was still reclined on a chair as if we were relaxing after a family meal. "My ears were burning so I thought I would do the polite thing and introduce myself. I'm Eve, though I suspect my reputation has preceded me."

Rhys regained his composure first and settled into his mask, hands in his pockets. "Delightful as it is to see you again, I didn't expect to be welcoming you to my home so soon. And those shackles were so becoming, I am loathe to see you without them."

"Were they? I thought them a little risqué for meeting the family." A flirty smile aimed at Rhys that set Azriel's teeth on edge. "I believe you wished to know more about me, so here goes. Firstly, you now know that if I wanted to sneak into the most heavily warded building in the most secretive city in Prythian and kill it's darling High Lady in her sleep, I would have had no trouble doing so. But I haven't, nor do I intend to. Secondly,"  Azriel's heard mechanisms click in the shelving as the secret panel he used to hide his spymaster's journals dropped open. Even Cassian didn't know that panel existed. A number of volumes flew out and onto tables and desks, open at seemingly pertinent pages. "These should add a little flesh to the bones of your knowledge about my history. Needless to say, your spies captured only the broad brushstrokes, but you know more about me than you think you do, you just haven't put the pieces together yet. Finally..." She approached Azriel, who still couldn't bring himself to move. Cassian squeezed the grip of his blade and readied himself to defend his brother if needed. She was almost toe to toe with him when she stopped. He fought to keep his demeanour calm and even as she raised her hand to cup his cheek. She could snap his neck there and he wouldn't raise a finger to stop her. She spoke softly and intimately, a direct counterpoint to the smarmy arrogance with which she had addressed the room. "When I kissed you, I didn't think I would die. I thought I might finally get to live". He could barely breathe as she drew away, and he fought not to lean into the contact. "Well, I believe that's enough amateur dramatics for now. I'll leave you to it. I'll be in my cell when you want to talk."

She winnowed, leaving the room in shocked silence. Well, almost the whole room. Amren threw her head back and howled with laughter, tears of it spilling down her cheeks as she doubled over, while the others looked on in horror, wondering if she was under some kind of enchantment. When she finally calmed enough to speak, it was through gulps of air as she caught her breath:

"Good luck, Shadowsinger. By the mother you are going to need it.".


	5. Before the Storm

They had been poring over the journals for hours and the picture they painted was not a flattering one. In fact, it was hard to believe all the accounts could related to one person. She had plenty of names, it seemed.

 

The siren, from when a theatre of wealthy aristocrats were lured to a 'once in a lifetime performance', only for the doors to be barred and the theatre set ablaze. Hundreds died in the fire. The doll maker, for the men she took to pieces. The mantis, from when she took a wealthy aristocrat to bed and - according to the examiners report - killed him while he was inside of her. Even Azriel, who had seen his share of mangled corpses in his time, shivered at that one.

 

There were other entries they couldn't make immediate sense of, like the gladiatrix who rose to fame and whose prowess bought her freedom, but who disappeared thereafter - had Eve killed this famed fighter too? And the brothel slave who killed her client - was she disguised there for a mark? But he'd seen enough. That some higher power believed this murderer, who clearly took pleasure in her craft, to be his equal in every way, made him feel sick. He knew he wasn't worthy of someone like Mor, but he had hoped he might find love with a good female someday. His soul must truly be grotesque to be paired to such a daemon.

 

Cassian found him on the balcony with a half-empty bottle of brandy in his hand. He took a seat beside him and took the bottle from his hand, swigging it before he spoke.

"Well, brother, she's a firebrand, I'll give her that. And she's a looker."

"True. I mean, she's evil incarnate, but at least she's easy on the eyes."

Cassian shot him a look that said _'I didn't mean it like that and you know it'_.

"What does it say about me, Cass? If she's my equal, does it mean I'm evil, too?"

"Don't be an idiot. Of course you're not evil." He sighed. "I'm not going to pretend I know how this shit works, because I don't, but I know you. You're the best man I know. Which means there's something we're missing here. Because she must be extraordinary to deserve you."

"Cass..."

"Bollocks, don't 'Cass' me when I'm actually right for once. She's made it clear she has no immediate intention to gut any of us like fish anytime soon, right?" Az nodded his assent. "So get her out of that dank cell. Get her a room here, and get to know her. Ask for her side of those stories before you jump to conclusions. I bet if someone wrote down the worst things we've done over the years without context, it would look none too pretty either."

Azriel thought about that for a moment - Cassian was, annoyingly, right. All of Prythian had thought Rhysand and his entire court to be monsters of the worst kind for centuries. Amren - all five feet of her - was a bedtime story to scare children into behaving, for crying out loud. And people still flinched sometimes when he walked into a room. So often that he'd become accustomed to it.

"Ok, I'll talk to Rhys about it. Thank you, brother."

"Anytime. Anyway, this is at least partially motivated by the fact she makes you blush furiously every time she moves or speaks. I just want to see your face when she tells the mantis story." He clapped Azriel on the shoulder and left him to his thoughts.

 

They planned her visit with military precision. All 3 Archeron sisters would be kept far away from the House of Wind for the duration. Cassian and Mor would stay at the house. This would hopefully give them some privacy, whilst not leaving Azriel without support should he wish it. There was also the issue of the threat to Feyre's life. Whilst the assassin was seemingly not a current threat, it remained that someone had tried to hire her, so one Amren or Rhys would remain with her until further notice. With battle plans drawn, it was time.

 

Cassian and Mor flanked him as Azriel waited in the vestibule for her arrival, he glanced at Mor, who gave him a reassuring smile. He still had no idea what her take on all this was. This time, Eve chose to winnow outside and knock at the door rather than appearing in the house. One of his shadows flicked the handle and she stepped confidently into the hall like she owned the place.

This was a terrible idea.


	6. Honey, I'm Home

The first few hours were uneventful. Azriel had left it to Mor to show Eve to the guest rooms, and he had been doing a fantastic job of avoiding her ever since. When dinner came around, he found urgent business to attend to at the docks and excused himself, making sure he returned only when they were sure to be clear of the dining areas - his shadows informing him Eve was safely sequestered in the library. Mor accosted him on the way to his rooms.

 

"You're a coward. You know that, right?"

"I had to meet with an informant on short notice..."

"Oh come off it, Az. Don't forget who you're talking to."

He looked sheepish. "How was dinner?"

"Well Nuala and Cerridwen cooked a beautiful feast. Spiced lamb, saffron potatoes..." He shot her a look and she huffed. "It was awkward as hell. We didn't say much. She did ask if either of us had bedded you as casually as if you might ask someone to pass the salt, which made Cassian choke on his wine. The way she ate was either overtly sexual - I mean, if children had been present, I would've had to cover their eyes when she ate that pomegranate - or mildly threatening. The girl's an artist with a knife." He grimaced. Mor continued "She left shortly after finishing, taking Cassian's favourite decanter of brandy with her. I think she was just trying to make us uncomfortable. She was pissed we were there and you weren't. It seems we have something in common in that regard."

"Sorry, Mor. You're right, I am a coward."

"We brought her here for you to get to know her. Find out if she's worth trusting. How can you do that if you won't set foot in the same room as her?"

He sighed. "Tomorrow. I promise I'll talk to her tomorrow, OK?"

Mor eyed him sceptically. "Fine. You have until dawn to grow a pair." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and headed down the hall to her own chambers. "Oh and Az? It was a very lucky pomegranate. Sweet dreams"

 

He chuckled softly to himself as he opened the door to his rooms.

"I can see why you lust after her, she's an incredible female."

He glanced up in alarm to see Eve reclined in her usual self-confident manner on his chaise, a tumbler of Cassian's brandy in one relaxed hand. His shadows had said she was in the library... Still did in fact. Cauldron, were they actually lying to him? He hadn't thought such a thing was possible.

"A pity she prefers females, but then you knew that already"

He had, of course, known about Morrigan's preferences in that regard for centuries, though it had taken him longer than he would care to admit to accept it. Still, it was part of their dynamic - she would never tell him, he would never admit he knew, he would continue to pine after her, in denial that it was hopeless. It was a complicated dance of mutual deception, a dance she led and he followed, and Cauldron damn her, Eve had seen through it all in a matter of days. She had to know it hurt him to say it out loud, but then she seemed like the sort who knew where to strike the most painful blow. He fixed his eyes to the floor, lest the silver lining his eyes break through.

"Get out."

She seemed to realise she had overstepped a line. "I'm sorry, that was callous"

"Just tell me what you want."

 

She considered her words before speaking. "I've spent my life playing someone else's game. Wearing a face that isn't mine, to kill someone I don't know, for reasons I don't care about." She sighed and slipped out of her sultry pose into one that looked more comfortable. "I want to skip the games and the falsehoods for a night. The Cauldron has seen fit to declare that you are my equal, my match. But I don't know you, and the little you know about me seems to make you want to run screaming to the farthest corner of Prythian. Which I don't blame you for, by the way." A half smile. "But the female in your journals with all the blood on her hands, that's not me." Azriel quirked an eyebrow. "Well, it's me obviously, but it's not all of me. Just like I have an inkling the fearsome torturer and spymaster of the Court of Nightmares that likes to cut the wings off of attor and dump them off of cliffs isn't all there is to you."

 

He raised his face to finally look at her. Gone was the defensive, brash posture and the self-aggrandising swagger. In their place was just a girl.

"Let's just be ourselves for a few hours. No lies, no dodging the question, no softening the blows - whatever you want to know, I'll tell you, no matter how damning or painful, and vice versa. The sooner to cut our losses if nature got it wrong this time. What do you think?"

 

It didn't take him long to answer. "I think Cassian is going to need more brandy when we're through".


	7. Our Scars Remind Us

He eyed her warily as she returned with a refilled decanter and poured a tumbler for him. "Gods, if you won't believe I'm not going to poison it, at least have the confidence in my professionalism to know I wouldn't do it in front of you."

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but he suppressed it instinctually.

"So, you have a few hours where I am beholden to tell you my darkest secrets - surely any spymaster's wet dream - while I ply you with stolen brandy, I might add. I'm dying to know what you're going to ask first."

 

His head was buzzing with questions. His sense of duty was screaming at him to ask her about the contract, who wanted Feyre killed, what their motives were. He was desperate to know about the entries in his journals, what inspired such brutality, but he didn't want to bring too quick an end to this arrangement. So he settled for a question that had been piquing his curiosity:

"How did you know I was your mate before we met in the clearing?"

It had been bothering him ever since. He figured out shortly after that she pulled him into that kiss to try and push the bond into place for him, too, but that meant it had snapped in for her previously. Yet he couldn't recall ever meeting her before, and he never forgot a face - an occupational hazard.

"When I am considering a contract, I do some research on my potential target before committing. That includes gathering information about the places they frequent, the kind of things they do with their time, any routines, and of course the company they keep. Before I found out about Velaris, my best bet to catch a glimpse of your little cadre was at the Court of Nightmares. Whilst families there are close, no one takes a second look at a serving girl, so I posed as one when Morrigan attended court one day. I was disguised with a simple glamour - dull hair, dull eyes, wan skin - utterly forgettable. Cassian was on the dais with her and you were, as normal, watching from the gloom. You were so enraptured by her, that I was sure you wouldn't notice that the serving girl who tripped near you in a clatter of silverware also slipped a tracking charm into your pocket. Your reflexes were quick though, and you caught me as I fell. The bond snapped in for me there and then."

 

His brow furrowed. "But why..."

"Why didn't it snap in for you too? Not sure. Could be because I was glamoured. My guess though, when you held out your arm to catch me..." Her eyes fell on the scarred skin of hands, and he quickly moved to conceal them.

"Oh". He hadn't considered that scar tissue might not be as receptive.

"You shouldn't hide them, you know? Your scars."

He was eager to change the subject. "Why kill those two lowlifes? Was it just to get my attention?"

"Yes and no." She wet her lips with brandy. "I needed to draw you out somehow. Whether to explore the bond or...not. And I knew you were after them yourself. Two birds with one stone."

"But why the brutality? I've seen you fight, you could kill either of them with one finger and barely leave a mark."

"I spent time with the servants at the Court of Nightmares. Some men don't deserve to die pretty"

 

It was her turn to ask something: "Why don't you smile more?"

He laughed at that. "That's your question?"

She shrugged "It's as good as any."

"She who maintains the equally sinister and gruesome reputation needs to ask why I don't smile?"

"I meant here. With your friends, your family."

That took him aback a little. "You said yourself, keeping it up can be exhausting, but it's easier than turning it on and off. It can be easier just to stay..."

"Frigid?" she added unhelpfully.

He shot her a look that would have some men cowering, but she just giggled. "I was thinking along the lines of impassive, but if you prefer frigid."

Her reply was low, husky "I really don't". He fought the warming in his blood. "Your question".

 

Time to move on to harder topics. "The stories from the journals - I presume since you pointed me to them, you know what they say?" She nodded assent. Great, file into the 'deeply concerning' pile that she had apparently read years worth of his spy journals. "Some of them make for fairly gruesome reading. Did they not deserve to 'die pretty' either? What did they do to earn themselves such an end?"

She huffed an exaggerated sigh. "That's a very long story."

He looked her in the eye. "I'm not tired". The unspoken _please_ hung between them. This was the answer he needed.

"Okay. Get comfortable. We could be here a while." She shifted in her seat as if taking her own advice. Azriel tried to ignore how her robe fell open slightly with the motion, but she did not seem conscious of the newly exposed expanse of perfect skin at all. "Chronologically, what was the first entry in your journals that I pulled out for you?"

He thought for a moment. "The brothel. The reports said a slave went rogue and killed her first client. An unusual cover for an assassin - how did you know you would get the right man?"

She laughed mirthlessly. "It wasn't a cover. I was sold to them when I was barely out of infancy. I never knew my family, nor my heritage. Though I was fae, I didn't really understand how that made me different to my peers, only that it did. Those too young to whore themselves served the brothel in other ways until they were old enough to spread their legs. I helped with the laundry, did cleaning, served drinks when I was older. I saw my friends get their first bleeding and be put to work, and the light would die out in their eyes. It broke those girls. While they trained me in carnal arts, I starved myself to stave off my bleeding, but it eventually it was bound to happen. I was considered a beauty, and fae were a rare commodity and a speciality of the house, so the madam was overjoyed she could finally sell me. But I was a fighter - They had to hold me down when they forced the tonic down my throat that would permanently thwart my fertility. But they thought that my spirit had been broken enough after that. They didn't realise that I didn't fear the consequences of their ire, only feared losing my soul as my sisters seemed to have. So I took a knife from the kitchens. When the sweaty brute who had made the highest bid for my maidenhead tried to lift my skirts, I jabbed the dull blade into his neck. I still remember that when they burst in and set upon me, beating me, I was laughing, and they thought me mad. I was laughing because it was his blood - great founts of it - coating the bed, instead of the blood of my virtue. It wasn't pretty or efficient, but that was the first time I killed someone."

 

Azriel sat in stunned silence. What could he possibly say to her after that? He knew there was slavery on the continent, but hadn't known fae were among them. Perhaps it was her easy confidence - the lazy, arrogant way she held herself - but he couldn't have imagined that she was a slave, or that the first time she raised a blade had been in self-defence. The clinical way in which she spoke of it chilled him to the bone. He wanted to say he was sorry, but doubted she would appreciate his pity. His mind focussed on one element of the tragedy.

"They forcibly sterilised you?"

"I never was the maternal sort, and never wanted children, but many of the girls who shared my fate wept for what would never be." She looked to the floor. "I suppose that's enough reason for you to reject the bond in and of itself. Males have discarded wives for less."

He shook his head. "You misunderstand. I merely meant that I'm sorry that the choice was made for you." She met his gaze, evidently unconvinced. He continued. "Even if I had the inclination, Shadowsingers can't procreate. Nature's way of limiting our power, I suppose."

She didn't say anything.

"So what happened next?"

"Well, slaves who murder free men are normally put to death, but with fae lifespans it would be seen as a terrible waste of a long term investment, so I was sold on at a much reduced price. Given the blood on my hands, I would usually have only been deemed suitable for menial labour - the mines or plantations - but a local flesh peddler of a different kind saw potential in my fury. I was sold to a ludus to train as a gladiatrix."

Azriel schooled his features into neutrality, but she picked up on his subtle surprise. "You assumed I had killed the gladiatrix in the journals?"

"Yes."

A wry smile before she continued. "I thought I was cauldron-blessed: I had escaped the drudgery of the mines, and was no longer fated to spend my days labouring under men for their pleasure. I was finally able to use and start to understand my fae grace, and I had heard the adulation with which people spoke of their favoured champions. But the reality was somewhat different. Whereas the men's bouts were considered the true sport, the females were the subject of mockery. The men wore armour, but the females fought as good as nude, more for spectacle than skill. As a final insult, female fighters who built a reputation were often hired to the wealthy for carnal use as well - bound or drugged so they couldn't fight back. So it seems I was fated to be a whore regardless. Only now I had to kill - and would eventually die - for the pleasure of others as well."

 

He fought back tears for what she had been through. He didn't realise he spoke aloud. "There was well over a hundred years between those two journal entries."

She nodded slowly. "I wasn't even able to lose count of the lives I took in that arena. Each victory was lauded and tallied, I won't tell you how many. Eventually, though it was deemed improper and scandalous by the upper echelons, I joined the men's fights, and in defeating their most acclaimed champion I was granted my freedom, after a century of bloodshed."

Wrong. How had he been so wrong? But still...

"If you hated it so much, why become a sword for hire?"

"Opportunities are somewhat limited for a former slave with a specific skill set. But I would be lying if I said it wasn't a choice. On being freed, I spent my first few years reaping vengeance for what I had been through. Given hindsight, it was selfish, needless death. But I thought that selfish, needless death was all I was good at. I dismembered every man who had paid my masters to lie with me while I was in chains. All but the one who had deflowered me, who I left for last. He was so full of his own self importance that he actually thought I had spared him, that he was special."

She took a sip of brandy before continuing. He hadn't touched a drop of his since she had started speaking.

"I had learned some simple glamouring by then, and he didn't recognise me until it was too late. I slit his throat when he was inside me. I told myself it was to make up for the part of me he killed in kind. A tad dramatic, I know, but in some strange way it gave me back control of my sexuality."

 

She was right when she had said some men don't deserve to die pretty. Compared to what he wanted to do to the men who had violated Mor, she was practically restrained, and that was second-hand ire. He thought of all the years Mor has suffered Eris to live and shuddered.

"And the theatre fire?"

"They were patrons all of the great arena. The ones who paid to gawp at my exposed flesh as I gut friends and strangers. I find the wealthy are unable to resist a spectacle, so a few fancy invitations was all it took. They were products of their society, and probably didn't deserve such an end. I should regret at least this, but I can't find it in me to do so. Especially because it earned me the reputation upon which I built my profession. I suppose in that regard I am the monster you feared I was. Since then, I have only ever taken contracts on the dregs of society. Murderers, rapists, and thieves all. You will forgive me if the Night Court's reputation initially led me to believe that your High Lady might fit those exacting standards, but obviously her contract is now not one I intend to take." Another sip of brandy. "I presume your next question will be about who-"

 

He reached over and took her hand in his.

"Later."

For now, all he wanted to do was to comfort her, but he didn't know how. Of course he wanted to know about the lowlife who wanted Feyre dead, and there was still so much he wanted to know about her, but he wouldn't - couldn't - ask it now. He almost withdrew his hand as she ran her fingers and gaze over his scars.

"Your scars aren't a mark of shame, Azriel. They are a reminder that you endured, and survived."

He smiled wanly. "This from the female who came out of a century and a half of unthinkable brutality with her beauty in tact and not a single mark on her skin."

Her laugh surprised him. "What's funny about that?"

She regarded him for a moment with a gaze so piercing it almost made him uncomfortable.

"Well, I suppose you showed me yours..."

She released his hand and stood, turning her back to him. His protest died in his throat as she undid the fastening on her robe. She stood before him in only a scrap of black lace, and as her robe hit the floor with a soft swish, her glamour fell away.

 

Gone was the creamy, unblemished skin that had been taunting him all evening, and in it's place a patchwork of scars that made his heart ache. Some overlapped, and in most places there was barely three inches of unmarred skin between one mark and another. All the worse was that he knew what had made each one. He had inflicted enough wounds in his time to recognise that a flail had made those long marks with the deeper gouges, that a hot poker had made that burn on her flank. Swords, daggers, hooks, nails, spiked bucklers... There were so many that he couldn't process it all at once.

"Still think I'm beautiful?" A slight tremor in that self-confident voice.

He examined her for a moment more before answering:

"No". She turned he head quickly to face him. "beautiful doesn't even come close to how exquisite you are." She smiled through her tears, and he thought it might be the most wondrous thing he had ever seen.

 

They continued to talk for hours. He asked about where and how she had gotten each scar, and about contracts she had taken and those she had rejected. She comforted him when he spoke of his childhood, and smiled with him when he spoke about Rhys and Cassian. They even talked about Mor, and he found that it was easier to talk about her now than it had ever been. That although he still cared deeply for her, the longing in the pit of his stomach had faded. It was only when the sun was peeking through the shutters that they finally parted ways.

 

He didn't want the night to end, and stopped her hand as it reached the doorknob. They paused there, close enough that they could feel the warmth of one other's breath.

"You said you needed to draw me out. To explore the bond, or not. What did you plan to do if you decided against it?"

"Kill you." Her voice was devoid of emotion; it chilled him.

"Why not just reject it?"

"Because I have been a slave before. I never intend to be one again. Not even to fate."

After all she had been through, he found that he understood.

"We train together in a few hours. Will you join us?" Azriel said softly, but then he remembered she had probably wielded enough practice blades to last her several lifetimes. "I mean, I understand if fighting practice... If you don't..."

"I'd like that" He leaned back and she opened the door to go.

"One last question if it's allowed, before the night is over?" She nodded. "How did you fit all those weapons into your leathers?"

The laughter that pealed down the hall as she left was a balm to his soul.


	8. In Training

He hadn't had more than a couple of hours of rest, and didn't think he had slept at all. His mind had refused to quiet as he thought of the feel of Eve's hands on his. How she not only didn't recoil at his scars, but seemed to cherish them. And of course he couldn't shake the image of her all but bare before him. He couldn't help but wonder how differently the evening could have gone if instead of talking, he had kissed each of her scars slowly and in turn as he had yearned to, but he wouldn't change the way things had happened for the world. More than just the base biological draw of a mating bond, he felt he was beginning to know her, understand her. It was hard to believe that this time the previous day, he was moping and cursing forgotten gods for his fate, when this morning held such promise.

 

As he approached the training yard Cassian, Rhys, and Morrigan were already there warming up. He was usually first to arrive, and this hadn't escaped their notice.

Mor said by way of greeting: "When you said you'd grow a pair 'tomorrow', I might've guessed you intended to laze in bed long enough to limit the opportunity."

"Apologies for my tardiness." he replied with a mocking bow as he eased into his stretches alongside her.

Mor gave him a sideways smile. "No apologies necessary. If I was prey for that venomous harlot, I might be late rising, too."

He desperately wanted to defend her, but had to word it carefully. A swift change in opinion would raise too many questions, and he didn't fancy explaining that they had spent the night together, platonic though it may have been. "Eve..."

"Appreciates the sentiment, but can speak for herself." She appeared in the shaded area on the roof. He made a note to ask how the hell she did that.

 

She was dressed in her leathers again. He realised now that she wore the head to toe garments all the time so that she had to exert less effort on maintaining her glamour. Whilst she had told him to wear his scars with pride, it made sense that an assassin would have to keep distinguishing marks to a minimum in order to retain anonymity. He wondered if she would wear them openly, given the choice.

"What is she doing here?" Mor hissed.

"I invited her." He replied evenly. Mor gave him a look that could cut glass. He shrugged. "You suggested I spend more time with her, and I thought we might all take advantage of her skills in training."

 

He gauged their reactions to their new companion. Rhys' expression gave away nothing. Cassian smirked, obviously looking forward to testing his mettle against the assassin that had bested his brother. Mor looked... less pleased, but he knew she would come around if she got to watch someone knock the grin off of Cassian's face.

"So." Cassian never did like long silences. "Who wants the first arse-kicking of the morning? Rhys?"

Rhys hadn't taken his eyes off of Eve, no doubt still concerned that she might try something. "I think our guest should have the honour."

Eve let a smirk spread across her face. "It would be my pleasure, High Lord. However, as Az rightly pointed out," he fought a smile at the familiar use of his name "you might all benefit from a demonstration. If I'm really going to show off, I'll need a second... volunteer."

Cassian looked like he was about to pitch a fit, no doubt in a display of profanity about his prowess, but before he got the chance "You don't need to ask me twice. I'd be happy to oblige."

Cassian and Mor went to the rack and pulled off a sword and shield each. Being left-handed, Mor made a fantastic counterpoint to Cassian, and this would definitely be interesting to watch. When Eve didn't approach the rack and went straight into the marked ring, they gave one another a glance.

"What's the matter, already regretting your bluster?" Mor snarked

"Not at all, I have everything I need." Her hands were empty and she wore no holsters at her back this time.

Cassian huffed. "Your funeral. Let's get this over with."

They both dropped into a fighting crouch. Eve remained in a relaxed stance, picking absently at the nails on one hand.

 

Azriel was tense. He didn't want to see her hurt, but she seemed to be doing everything she could to rile them up. They would be seething by now. Rhys approached him and said in a voice too quiet for them to hear: "5 gold coins says she wins, 10 says they go down in less than a minute." Azriel laughed. It was a fool's bet to distract him, no doubt - as skilled as he knew she was, she was unarmed and unreadied against two of Prythian's best. Even if she got Mor down somehow, Cassian had stamina for days - no way would he go down unless she had a killing blow, and achieving that so quickly was nigh impossible.

"It's your money, old man."

 

Cassian clacked his sword on his shield to signal a start. The pair rushed her and attacked in their usual flanking pattern. But quicker than Azriel could blink, Eve had pulled a thin dagger from a concealed sheath on her wrist. As if she had seen it coming, she ducked Cass's first swing and stabbed up and through his right underarm. He hissed and dropped his sword, which she caught by the pommel with her free hand before it hit the ground. Without pause and as easy as breathing, she swept a leg under Mor, tripping her so she landed on her back. Her other leg caught under Mor's blade and kicked it out of reach, continuing on to catch Cassian in the back with enough force to throw him onto his hands and knees. She halted her dagger and Cassian's sword with precision half an inch from Cassian and Mor's necks respectively: Killing blows both. Azriel was in shock. Cassian and Mor both looked like they were trying to fathom how it actually happened. Rhys just stuck his hand out for his gold, which Az fumbled for and put in his hand without taking his eyes off the spectacle.

"How did you know?"

"Well I suppose you might want your gold back if I tell you, but it turns out we were right in that she'd been training with daemati, though she isn't one herself. She sent me a visual just before the fight predicting each of their opening gambits, and showing me how she would counter them. Apparently, she has been watching our morning sessions for the past few weeks. She also knows that Mor and Cass are the more hot-headed of our group and were most likely to be goaded into rushing her if she acted unfazed. She really is quite something."

Mor and Cassian had picked themselves up and dusted themselves off. Cassian was eagerly quizzing her about what she did and how she pulled off the manoeuvres, and she was showing him what tells had signalled his intent. Mor was heading their way, having apparently caught the tail end of their conversation.

"Yeah, she's something alright..." The venom coming from her was almost funny and he caught Eve suppressing a smile. "Maybe you and Az should have a go instead of gossiping on the sidelines like old ladies."

Azriel couldn't help it, he was itching to see if he could hold his own in a fair fight with her (that is to say, one where she kept her lips to herself). Rhys gave him a look that said he was similarly curious. He glanced over at Eve, who had (remarkably politely) dismissed Cassian and was gesturing for them both to come over. She really was cocky if she was willing to fight them both at once.

 

"Magic, or no magic?" Rhys asked as he headed to the ring. It seemed he didn't need convincing, so Azriel followed in step.

"Magic is fine by me. Non-lethal, obviously. If you mist me I'll have free reign to haunt this place forever and you'd never be rid of me."

Rhys just smirked in response. He took Cassian's sword and shield, and Azriel picked up a sword off the rack and unsheathed Truth-Teller. He could use his siphon shields and even parry with his shadows if needed, and had a feeling extra offensive capability might come in handy. They also rarely spared with magic in play, so it was likely Eve's advantage from watching them practice would have less impact here. Eve sheathed her thin dagger back at her wrist and pulled out two larger knives concealed at her calves. She spun them in her hands and dropped into a crouch. No mind-games this time.

"Two males at once. My, my, this takes me back. Aren't I a lucky girl?" Well, minimal mind-games, then.

 

Rhys signalled the beginning of the fight with a clack of sword on shield, and immediately winnowed, appearing behind her and aiming a strike for her neck. She parried with one dagger and counterstruck with the other, Rhys didn't get his shield up in time but dodged quickly enough to avoid more than a scratch. He winnowed again, no doubt looking for attacks of opportunity. Meanwhile, Azriel surged and aimed slashing blows at both neck and knee, aiming to catch her whether she jumped or ducked. She jumped and turned in mid air, rolling between the blades and catching him in the face with her foot as it chased the path of Truth-Teller. As he was knocked back, Rhys appeared again, this time at her right and went to lunge for her flank as she landed, but his strike was halted as he staggered back, dropping his weapons - it was like he was in pain, but as far as Azriel had seen, no blow was struck. He raised a hand to his head, and when her elbow connected, he fell to the ground. He writhed where he landed, clutching his head - apparently incapacitated. It dawned on Azriel that she must be using his daemati powers against him somehow. She feinted out of Azriel's reach and made her mock killing blow, easing Rhys' pain as he bowed graciously out of the fight. And then there were two.

 

It was the clearing all over again, blades clashing against siphon and steel. He had no idea how long they fought, but the training yard was silent as all eyes were on them. Both refused to show signs of slowing or tiring. He parried another thrust of her dagger aimed for his thigh and felt her leg strike him in the back. Another dagger followed with blinding speed. His siphons were draining, so he told his shadows to parry for him... And felt the dagger bite into flesh. He had forgotten the new rebellious streak his shadows had developed around her. He was so shocked that he failed to stop the roundhouse kick that sent him to the floor. He caught her by the arm and dragged her down on top of him. He was so wrapped up in the sudden sensation of her wrapped around him, her scent invading his senses and driving him almost to madness, that he forgot the injury, and scarcely noticed the blade against his jugular - her mock killing blow that ended the bout.

 

As soon as it was over, she moved to assess the damage. His injury was slight enough that he didn't wince, but tried to ignore the gentle way her fingers skirted across his skin.

"Already healing." She declared, smiling at him and pulling him to his feet along with her. Cheering and hoots rang out from the sidelines as the others lauded the fight. They all ran over with abandon - Even Mor apparently having come around somewhat.

"You have GOT to teach me whatever trick you used to put Rhys on his ass, that was brilliant." She beamed.

Rhys looked indignantly in her direction. "Please don't. I have to agree though, that was very well played. It was like a banshee in my skull, I could barely stand it. You'll have to help me learn to defend against that. That is if you decide... If you are to remain here with us."

Azriel didn't miss her quick glance in his direction. "That remains to be seen."

He tried not to look crestfallen. Cassian and Mor took the cue to leave and start sparring

"I was thinking of hosting a dinner party for my family - my Inner Circle - this evening. It has been a while since we've all been in the same place for a meal together. Thing is, the only suitable venue is the House of Wind. I am loathe to impose on your privacy, but you'd of course be welcome to join us."

She looked a little taken aback. "I appreciate the offer, but I can find somewhere else to be for the evening."

Azriel concealed his disappointment.

"I hope you will yet reconsider." Rhys responded politely. "I took the liberty of asking a local clothier to deliver a few items I believe will fit you. There are a selection of styles, so I hope something will be to your liking. Mostly day clothes, but there would be a selection of suitable attire should you choose to attend tonight. They should have been delivered to your chambers by the time you finish bathing after practice." Azriel wondered if she would choose further styles to hide her scars, or if she would openly display them. She nodded her thanks and headed over to where Mor and Cassian were sparring. Clearly she intended to have them sweat a little more before the morning was out.


	9. A Family Dinner

Azriel hadn't seen her since that morning. He couldn't trust his shadows to tell him where she was, and he had sought her in all of the places he could think she could be. He had given up around dusk, deciding if she didn't want to be found, he wouldn't find her, and had gone to change for dinner. He usually wore his leathers to their 'family' dinners (Mor and Rhys would be in their finery, but he and Cassian never bothered. Amren was... well, Amren, and would wear the same thing to muck out horses as she would to meet royalty). Cassian would certainly ridicule him for dressing up, and Eve would probably think him pathetic for wearing such frippery. Still, it kept him busy for a while.

 

He chose a black shirt and matching formal trousers, and a black velvet waistcoat with silver brocade. He left the top few buttons undone as he had seen Rhys do on less formal occasions. As he went to add cufflinks, he decided on impulse to roll up his sleeves instead. He never exposed his scars like this - even when temperatures soared and the males sparred shirtless, he wore bracers to cover them. Before he could lose his nerve and roll them down again, he strolled out the door and to the dining hall.

 

As anticipated, a shit-eating grin spread over Cassian's face the moment he laid eyes on his brother. "Az, you look like you spent longer getting ready than Morrigan. Did the twins do your hair, too?"

He gave him a look that said: _Don't_. Cassian continued to smile to himself, but thankfully, didn't say anything further. Azriel cast his eyes around. Of course she had said she wouldn't be here, but it still left him disappointed when he noted her absence. She wasn't there but... "Feyre?" He was surprised to see his High Lady given that their houseguest's threat against her life was not openly off the table.

She eyed him with ill-disguised surprise. "Az? I almost didn't recognise you out of leathers."

"I feel ridiculous." He admitted.

"You look very handsome." He caught Rhys' fleeting glimpse to see whom his mate had just called 'handsome' - it would seem the jealousy of the mating bond hadn't died down entirely, even this long after the fact.

He pasted on a small smile and nodded. Taking a compliment wasn't in his comfort zone, and he was still fighting every urge to hide himself in a dark corner.

Rhys cast an eye over the group - everyone was here, with one notable exception. It would seem he decided they had waited long enough and he called them through to be seated. Once they had all sat and refreshed their drinks, the twins brought up the first course from the kitchens. A familiar dish of spiced figs and goats cheese they had all eaten a hundred times before (except Amren of course, whose palate was still adjusting to regular food), but the scent seemed slightly different. Before he could take up his cutlery to taste the first bite, the doors swung open.

 

He was glad he was sitting, as he feared else he might have fallen to the floor. Even in fighting leathers, she had been beautiful since he first laid eyes on her. Tonight, she was devastating. Her dress was so black it seemed to consume the light around it. At the neckline, it turned from opaque fabric to black lace extending over her arms and shoulders. As she passed him to take the remaining seat beside him, he noted that the entire back was also lace - covering her scars, but still giving the sensual illusion of nudity. Thin panels of lace also ran up the sides, baring slivers of skin along her legs. He almost growled aloud when he saw Cassian eyeing her with a male appreciation, but a look from her had the same cowing effect. Somehow she managed to still look deadly - her makeup was fierce, all dark colours and bold lines. War paint, he realised. He found he had lost interest in his meal and was feeling incredibly self conscious again.

 

"I didn't think you would come." He managed to mumble.

"Mor told me she would make sure all future clothing deliveries were a frightful assortment of pinks and florals if I didn't make use any of the gowns Rhys sent. I thought it best not to risk it." He smiled and cast a grateful glance at Mor, who pretended not to see him.

"Well, we wouldn't want that. You are a vision in black."

 "Thank you. You look..." She eyed him with shameless appreciation.

"Frigid?" He suggested, echoing another conversation.

"I was thinking along the lines of mouth-watering, but if you prefer frigid."

He swallowed hard, but regained his composure quickly enough to reply in a low mimic of her husky voice from the previous night:

"I really don't".

Her laugh was worth the confused looks from the others, who were failing to disguise their eavesdropping. His thoughts still lingered on her words.

"Mouth-watering?" He quizzed.

A light touch on his bare forearm. "Scars and all."

 

A thought broke through he haze in his mind that they should really move the conversation to safer ground.

"I hope the food will be to your liking," Nuala had brought her a plate while they were talking. "Have you eaten Illyrian food before?"

"Yes, I know the dishes fairly well. One of my favoured covers is working as a chef, makes it easy to slip things into the meals, you know? I spent the afternoon in the kitchens with the twins and made some suggestions." He didn't miss people suddenly becoming wary of their plates, and apparently nor did she.

She addressed the table with a wry smile: "Don't worry, I didn't lay a hand on the food. You have nothing to fear".

Cassian apparently was sufficiently persuaded or hungry enough not to care as he dove into his plate. His eyes widened as he tasted the new recipe.

"Gods above, that's good. What is that?" Cassian fancied himself the cook of the group, and actually was very skilled. If she had impressed him, it had to be good. He took a bite and almost moaned at the taste. Down the table, Mor actually did let out a moan that was almost vulgar.

"It's belladonna." Feyre spat out her mouthful before Eve could finish. "A lot of common poisons can be used in tiny doses to enhance flavours. In this case, the sweetness of the belladonna counteracts the sharpness of the fig and the tang of the cheese. The paralytic effect also freezes the salivary glands slightly to enhance the tastebuds, so it's ideal for a first course." Azriel almost laughed out loud. The fact she somehow made something deadly into something wonderful shouldn't have surprised him at all.

"I don't care if it's a lethal dose. I'm finishing it. That's worth dying for." Cassian said through a full mouth. Everyone laughed and resumed their meals. Even Amren cleared her plate, though he guessed it should come as no surprise that she preferred her meals mildly toxic.

 

The subsequent courses were similarly delightful. It seemed Eve's familiarity with the culinary uses for various poisons was both extensive and well-tuned. Meats laced with traces of foxglove, salads with hydragea flowers for presentation and flavour, vegetables seasoned with water hemlock, and finally a custard dessert with berries and jimson weed. Conversation was light and the atmosphere friendly.

 

"That was too good to expect no consequences. Will we really suffer no ill effects from eating all of that?" Rhys ventured.

"Probably should have asked that before Cassian ate his bodyweight in pudding." Mor replied.

"No regrets." This from Cass.

"You'll be fine. Most poisons have to be distilled and crafted to be potent enough to be deadly, and it was the raw ingredients we used here. There was so little in the food that you might get at most some interesting dreams from an excess of dessert. Jimson weed is a hallucinogen." She paused. "So what do you all do after dinner." Eve enquired. "Drinking? Dancing? Gambling?"

"A mix of the three. Sometimes these buzzards break into my wine cellar. Sometimes Morrigan drags us kicking and screaming to Rita's, where we stay of our own volition much later than we should. And sometimes the females tire of our shenanigans and go out on the town, leaving these brutes to fleece me at cards." This scathing report earned Rhys a thorough glaring from all parties involved.

"You never thought it might be unwise to play cards with a professional spy?" Eve asked, incredulous.

Rhys considered that. "I never thought of it that way." Laughter erupted from everyone present, who apparently had all thought it was rather obvious for some time now. "So gambling is definitely out."

"There goes my unofficial salary top-up." Az murmured with a tug at the corner of his lips.

The conversation went on and the group seemed to naturally divide. Mor and Cassian were off to Rita's. Amren was taking a bottle of Rhys' best vintage 'for the road'. Rhys and Feyre were off back to the townhouse, much to the delight of the others who had been subjected to far too many public displays of affection from the couple since their mating.

 

Azriel was suddenly very aware that it left he and Eve alone - the plan of always having a 'chaperone' in the house had apparently been long forgotten.

"It's not too late to join the others at Rita's if you'd like." He suggested. Much as he would love to spend more time alone with her, he was also scared to death to do so.

"You don't have to stay with me if you'd prefer to go with them. I'm content to remain here." She offered him a small smile. "Tonight was great, but I think I'm a little too used to my own company. I was going to head to the library and pick something out to round out the evening."

He could relate. He loved his family, but had to admit that he sometimes needed to retreat to a quiet space after an evening with them. But he didn't think he could spend the next few hours alone knowing she was just down the hall.

"Would you mind if I joined you? I might be able to make some recommendations." If she rejected his offer, he would go and join Cassian and Mor to keep him distracted.

"Not at all. I'd be glad of the help. I was in there the other day and couldn't seem to find anything."

He thanked the Mother and led the way down the hall.


	10. Bedtime Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild smut warning

As they entered the library, he asked what sorts of novels she had read and enjoyed recently, and if there was anything she hadn't liked. He was well-read and was hopeful he could provide her with something she would enjoy. As it turned out, she had read a lot of the books he had intended to recommend. Reading was, apparently, a great pleasure for her. Much like Feyre, she was all but illiterate until later in life, and she relished the escapism of fiction. She read a broad range of genres, but preferred something with an element of the fantastic, and to his surprise enjoyed a little romance. _"As long as it doesn't interfere with the plot"_ , she had stipulated. He scanned the shelves, eventually locating the novel he had in mind and handing it to her.

" _Time and Tide_ " she read the title aloud, running a finger along the spine. "I haven't heard of this one. What's it about?"

"It's the tale of a pirate who seeks to free his lover from a curse which will ultimately turn her into a siren." He explained. "Don't worry, Shiva is no damsel in distress. I think you'll find it quite surprising."

"I'm intrigued. Thank you."

His desk in the corner of the room drew his attention. Upon it were a stack of reports awaiting his attention. He sighed. "It seems I have some paperwork to catch up on. I can take them back to my rooms if I would be intruding here?"  
"I don't mind at all." She was already thumbing through the first few pages.

 

He grabbed the stack of files, took a seat on one of the many couches (every seat in the room were designed to accommodate wings) and began reading the first report, which turned out to be a boring missive on potential unrest in one of the Illyrian camps that had been ongoing forever. He started slightly when he felt the cushions next to him shift as Eve took the seat next to him. She had dispensed with her shoes and put her feet up on the seat, leaning into him and laying her head against his leg. Her eyes never left the page of her book. He sat stock still, not sure whether to be flattered, amused, or none of the above.

"Comfy?" He murmured.

"Very."

"Something wrong with the other chairs?"

"I can't snoop on your reports from there." She flicked the page over, her eyes still fixed on the book.

"If there was anything of note, it would've been brought to my attention. These are just routine."

"If you say so."

He smirked. "I mean, this one just talks about a smart-mouthed assassin with a vendetta against personal space."

She thumped him with the book.

 

After that, they settled into companionable silence. For a moment he dared to wonder if this could be a snapshot of their life together if they accepted the bond - just spending time quietly together. He couldn't remember the last time he had just sat in silence with someone without it feeling awkward, but this felt as natural as breathing. As time passed, though, her body heat began to bleed through the lace at her shoulders and neck and onto him, and what had been a platonic intimacy became something else. He found it increasingly hard to concentrate. Occasionally she would laugh or sigh at something she read (he remembered the book had a couple of rather smutty scenes - one had mermaids), or roll her shoulders to get comfortable again, and each time he thought less about his work and more about her. She must have caught him looking, or felt him shift.  
"Am I distracting you?"

Yes. "No, of course not."

"Liar."

Rumbled. "Maybe a little."

"Do you want me to go?"

"No, I just think I need a break for a moment." He put the file he was currently reading down on the book table and rubbed his eyes. He had been reading it for the past fifteen minutes and couldn't honestly remember a thing about it. "These are mind-numbing."

 

She stretched her crossed legs out along the length of the couch. His gaze automatically ran along the sheer panel at the side of her dress, and he noticed the lace extended above her hips. The solid line of any undergarments would have been visible through the dress. If she had been wearing them, which she very obviously wasn't. He fought to keep his breathing steady and shifted so that she wouldn't feel his stirring arousal beneath her. She snorted a laugh.

"What?"

She didn't look up from her book. "Most hot-blooded males would have noticed when I walked in at dinner. Cassian certainly did. I was beginning to think you were made of stone."

His lips curled up in the ghost of a smile. "Tease."

She sat up facing him, her legs curled alongside her. "Prude."

He snatched the book from her in mock indignation and held it out of her reach. "I'm not a prude, I'm a gentleman. I'll have you know there is a difference."

"Of course there is." She reached across him to try and grab the book back, her breasts brushing against his chest and her face dangerously close to his. "Gentlemen are far worse."

"And how is that?"  
"A prude represses his desires. A gentleman is just afraid to act on them."

The world stopped as he considered his reply. "And what if he were to act on them?"

Her voice was low and sultry and her eyes fixed on his lips as she spoke. "I don't know, I've been waiting to find out since the training ring."

 

The book fell to the floor forgotten as his lips met hers in a haze of passion. They came together like stars colliding, and he was so lost in her lips that he almost didn't notice when she moved to straddle him. One of her hands was in his hair, grabbing and pulling him to her, while the other eased under his arm and snaked around his back and under his wing to run teasingly down his spine. He had one hand loosely holding the back of her neck, with the other on her bare thigh, pulling her impossibly closer. A voice in the back of his head warned him this was moving way too fast, that this was just biology - the mating bond throwing them together in a cloud of pheremones, and he pulled his mouth away to get a breath and slow things down, but then her hips snapped to his and her bare sex brushing against the straining fabric of his trousers had him forgetting everything except the feeling of her so close. She moaned and any last vestige of protest died then and there. He would do anything just to get her to make that noise again, and he moved his mouth to her neck, brushing his teeth and tongue against a pressure point that had her back arching, pushing her chest harder against him as she writhed against him. The growl that came from him sounded more animal than fae. He had thought he would die from her kiss, but he was wrong. This was where he would meet his end. Lost in her fervour.

 

"Az." The way she ground out his name was fuel to his fire.

"Az, wait. Stop." His passion was doused immediately. They untangled and he cautiously met her gaze, terrified he had done something wrong.  

Her voice was heavy as she also fought to catch her breath.

"Did you read this?". He was vaguely aware she had picked up his discarded report.

What? Who cares? "Yes. Well sort of." He panted. "I was... distracted."

"Az this says that they have captured two Illyrian deserters with information on the uprising. They were heading towards Autumn Court."

He fought to process the information, but a good portion of his blood was conspicuously absent from his head. "What? Why Autumn? What do they have to do with the uprising?"

"Az, it was a noble from Autumn who approached me about the contract. He was only a low ranking noble, but I suspected that the orders came from higher up. Maybe all the way to Beron. You need to find out what these deserters know."

He nodded. He had regained enough of his faculties to realise she was right. She eased off his lap, rising gracefully to her feet and picking up the book that had landed by the couch. Her lips were still flushed from his kiss.  

"I should go. You didn't get much sleep last night and you'll need to be rested to deal with this. I know it's none of my business but... If you need me..."

He met her gaze. "Thank you."

His eyes followed every step. She paused when she reached the door.

"Az?"  
"Yes?"

"The book is wonderful."

She smiled at him as she made her exit.

He cursed under his breath and ran a hand through his hair to steady himself. He had almost missed crucial information because he'd been so wrapped up in things with him and Eve. He had let himself become compromised - he would send Rhys a brief message tonight explaining the key facts from the report and asking for a meeting at dawn. Then he would talk to Rhys about recusing himself from his duties temporarily. His focus was split at the moment, and that made him a liability. He waited for his arousal to abate more fully, before huffing a sigh and heading for his chambers.


	11. Blood on our Hands

"No."

"I'm sorry?"  
"No, you aren't excused from your duties. This is a critical time and there isn't anyone else I'd trust with Feyre's safety. Cassian and Amren are hopeless at information gathering, Mor getting involved would attract too much attention, and I'm too close to this to be impartial. I can't take the risk of missing something because I didn't have my best male on the job."

"Rhys please." He was embarrassed to be asking in the first place, but hated the thought of his court and High Lady at risk because he wasn't focussed. "Five centuries in your service, I've never asked for anything. I almost missed the gods-damned report entirely. If anything happened to Feyre because my attention was divided..."

"It won't." There was no room for argument is his tone. Azriel sighed. "Az, it won't." he reassured. He looked at his brother, who offered him a supportive smile. "Fate has granted you a mate who doesn't shrink at your profession. Perhaps you should take her with you?"

He shook his head. It's true she was no shrinking violet, but he had seen her scars laid bare, and not all of them had been inflicted in the arena or in combat. It was clear she had been subject to torture herself at some point in that tragic past of hers. She knew of his role as torturer, but to have her bear witness to it... "No. I don't want her to see me like that."

"You always did hate that part of your duties, and you have to have wondered how she might fit into our court if you both decide to accept the bond. There's no place for an assassin here, but her stomach for violence and her skill at manipulating people? It's about time the Court of Nightmares had a new nightmare of it's own."

"I said no, Rhys."

"And who the hell do you think you are you to speak for me?" The ire in Eve's voice was tangible as she barrelled into the room. She had probably been listening in from the off. "Just because the Mother decided to push the two of us together, doesn't make you my master."

He felt like he'd been punched in the gut. She had implied once before that she feared that the bond would make her subordinate to him in some way, and that she would even kill him to prevent it. And now here he was, trying to speak for her. Still...

"Please, Eve. You don't need to see that side of me."

She touched her hand to his forearm. "Scars and all, remember? Besides, you won't be the only one playing the part."

He let out a sigh. "Fine, but I haven't been seen openly consorting with a female for... well, ever. If I bring you with me, it'll set tongues wagging in the court."

A wicked smile spread across her face as her mask slid into place, and she was once again the cruel, intimidating female he had met in the clearing. Gods, was it only a few days ago? "Would you like me to tell you how many ways I know to remove wayward tongues, or are you a more hands-on student?"

 

\--

 

They winnowed in silence to the dungeons of the Hewn City. Most people found winnowing with a Shadowsinger an unpleasant experience due to the brisk chill of his shadows. Feyre had once said it felt like her insides were numb and her lungs were freezing from the inside. But Eve hadn't seemed to note any difference. Azriel wondered if it was because the shadows recognised her relationship to him somehow, or if perhaps she had always felt comfortable in shadow the way he had, in anticipation of finding that quality in her mate.

 

As the chamber lock turned with a metallic squeak, he thought for a moment about the irony of the detainee being kept in Eve's former cell. Eve had walked out of here still technically a prisoner, and now re-entered it as a jailer. The was her lip curled up at one side in an amused smirk told him she was likely thinking the same thing. Eve strode purposefully into the cell, with that swagger he found at once disturbing, irksome, and infinitely sexy. She reached the farthest wall of the cell and leaned casually, picking at her nails with nonchalance. It seemed she was content to let him take point.

 

The prisoner was chained to a chair in the centre of the room, her wrists bound below where her clipped wings hung lifeless behind her. She wore a scowl that seemed to say _'it is beneath me to be here_ ', and her body language was bizarrely somehow both submissive and yet petulant. He could have read volumes into those observations alone, were it not for his reaction to the familiarity of her features. He didn't know this female, but even with the uncharacteristic facial expression and darker colouring, she bore more than a passing resemblance to someone he did. He had no idea how he could bring himself to mar her flesh. He kept his features passive, but inside he was in turmoil. Elain. She looked just like Elain.

 

Elain, who was kind and nurturing to a fault. Whose recovery he had aided when the Cauldron had so cruelly dragged her from the life she wanted and changed her fate. Who had used his blade to end the life of a tyrant.

 

His panic and reluctance would not go unnoticed for long, but luckily Eve picked it up first. Without hesitation, she gave him a seductive smile.

"You didn't say you wanted to watch this time."

 A message from Rhys came through his mental shields at that moment. _Eve says to follow her lead. She said you went blank for a second. Everything ok?_

He sent Rhys a mental image of the captive. _Remind you of anyone?_

_Gods, she looks just like her. I see why it gave you pause. Do you need a hand_? 

He watched as Eve pushed off the wall and sat astride the captive's lap. She drew the small dagger from her wrist sheath and fingered the point, before tugging the female's hair back sharply, exposing her neck and face to the blade.

"Such a pretty face. I bet the males are clamouring over you." She spoke next to Azriel, without breaking eye contact with her plaything. "5 gold pieces says she wants to stay pretty enough that she talks."

The female spat in Eve's face, but she just smiled and aimed a look over her shoulder to him. "He loves it when they fight back, don't you lover?"

He sent word back to Rhys: _No need. Eve's got this_.

 

It took less than an hour to break her. He had moved to a different position in the room to observe her, and Eve's techniques were flawless - inflicting maximum pain whilst avoiding permanent damage. Objectively, it was excellent work. Subjectively, it was incredibly unsettling. She had also used Azriel's presence in the room to play up the angle that they were there together out of some twisted enjoyment, which not only covered his lack of involvement credibly, but also seemed to speed things along: The captive's perception that they were deriving pleasure from the proceedings had apparently frightened her more than the physical threat. In fact, it was the moment Eve had unstraddled the detainee and strode over to him, pulling him into a fierce kiss and leaving a trail of the female's blood on his cheek from her hands that had she had conceded.

 

They learned that their new prisoners were part of an Illyrian movement that believed the training of females in the camps was an insult to their warrior heritage, and that their strength would be diminished by it. Azriel wasn't surprised to hear that there were females among them who believed that what they were doing was wrong - they had been raised in a culture that had been toxically male-dominated since before the written word. He was still saddened to hear it though, especially when she looked so like Elain, who had faced her own struggles with overcoming the ingrained patriarchal values of human high society. As Eve had suspected, they had a contact in Autumn who had been providing them with arms and information. The female didn't know who, though, and they had to corroborate the rest of her information as far as possible, which meant interrogating the other captive.

 

As they left the cell, Eve crouched down to the terrified female and placed a taunting kiss on her cheek. She leaned in and whispered into her ear, which was bleeding from her earlier ministrations:

"When you are free again, whenever that may be, remember this day. And when the terror keeps you from sleep, remember it was at the hands of your own fair sex. This is what female strength and power looks like. And it's as much your birthright as it is mine. Fight for it."

 

After they had exited and locked the gate, he turned to her.

"It will take more than a few words to undo a lifetime of conditioning."

"I know, but it has to start somewhere". He offered her a small smile.

"Thank you. And thank you for stepping in when I..."

"Don't mention it. I understand - she looks like your friend. Hopefully she shares her strength, too."

She went to the basin to wash the blood from her hands, and when the water ran clean she approached him with a washcloth to remove the dried trail she had left on his face, but he stopped her.

"I think this may come in handy when interrogating the male. If they're a couple, or related, it might prove useful leverage." She flashed him a wicked grin and discarded the cloth, gesturing for him to lead on.

 

They entered the male's cell. Instead of being on a chair as his compatriot had been, his arms had been chained to an anchor in the ceiling, his bare feet barely able to touch the floor. He had obviously put up more of a fight. Eve repeated her previous steps, flouncing to the far wall where she leaned, eyeing the male. His nostrils flared when he scented the blood Azriel still wore - so he and the female were close, then.

"You didn't say you wanted to watch this time." This time is was Azriel who said it.

The flash of mischief in Eve's eyes didn't escape attention, and the prisoner straightened as Azriel drew Truth-Teller. This interrogation would be very different to their first. As an Illyrian warrior, it would be impossible for him not to recognise the authority of Azriel's position, and a part of him would be screaming to submit to that authority. However, it was no secret that his being bastard-born fostered hostility in some Illyrian males, especially those who held more traditional beliefs as these certainly did. To compound matters, bringing a female in to his interrogation would be seen as the gravest of insults. In short, he would take time to break.

 

Eve watched Azriel work, ensuring she remained in the captive's peripheral vision at all times. Azriel usually remained impassive during an interrogation like this, but he wasn't used to having an audience. Never mind one that was so... interactive. Occasionally, Eve would make an appreciative noise, or voice her approval. She even went so far as to rub her thighs together as if trying to relieve a sexual ache. He had broken the male's nose early in proceedings, so he wouldn't be able to scent her lack of arousal. Still, it had the intended effect - the prisoner was still standing and clearly not about to capitulate due to physical pain anytime soon, but the notion of being used for a female's pleasure was clearly adding to his irrationality and distress. He might break sooner than anticipated. Azriel had paused at the suggestion of his shadows to ensure the sting of inflicting a new wound would not be dulled by the old, and had taken the opportunity to go over to Eve and pull her into a searing kiss. They had been at this for hours, and he tried to convey in his kiss how much he wanted to take her away from this place. Her eyes remained fixed on the captive and Azriel followed her gaze back to the male, who spat a mouthful of blood onto the cell floor.

"I knew you were an ill-begotten runt, Shadowsinger, but bringing your whore in to watch you carve me up? It only disgraces you further. If you wanted to dampen her thighs, you should've given me a weapon and fought like a real male. You are a traitor to your race."

Azriel's answering growl was fierce enough that it would have made most males soil themselves, but before he could move to wring the prick's neck, he felt a soft squeeze of his hand. Barely perceptible, but it said: _Let me_.

He squeezed back: _All yours_.

 

Eve eased out of Azriel's grip and sauntered over to the chained male. Her smile was vicious.

"Do you want to know a secret?" She whispered conspiratorially in his ear. "Once upon another life I was, in truth, a whore. When I was learning my craft, we had lessons on, shall we say 'specific' anatomy and physiology of different types of males. Including winged fae." She raised a finger and ran it down an ridge of his wing that made him suck in a sharp breath. "With that training, I could bring a male to completion by wings alone." Azriel fought to keep himself from reacting as he watched with no small amount of fascination. "It wasn't until I found my true calling that I discovered what a blessing those lessons really were." She pulled a tiny pin from her hair, leaving red curls to cascade down her back, and jabbed it into his wing, running it down the same ridge that her finger had traversed moments before. Azriel actually winced at the pained screams emanating from the male. The pin had torn the membrane without going clean through. He could also smell some kind of irritant on it.

**_Gaillardia_** , his shadows whispered.

 

It was inspired. Whilst a cut in such a sensitive place would have hurt regardless, the pain would have been minimal in comparison to that of a wound on stimulated flesh. Add in an irritant, and it would be almost intolerable. And as no permanent damage would be done, if the male was redeemable, they wouldn't lose a capable soldier. It probably wouldn't even scar noticeably. She moved her attentions to the area at the side of his back where the wing joined his torso. She dug her fingers in with a gentle pressure and massaged, stimulating blood flow to muscles and membrane. The male was unable to suppress a groan in between sobbing breaths, agony and ecstasy fighting for dominance. "When you were a child, did you ever tear the wings from a moth, or perhaps a fly?" she asked absently.

That was all it took. "Please. I will tell you anything. Just leave my wings in tact. I beg of you."

She dropped the pin to the floor and made her exit. "Over to you, lover." He heard a whoosh as she winnowed from outside the door.

The male gave Azriel everything.


	12. Wash My Sins Away

Azriel winnowed back to his chambers, the blood of the prisoners still tacky on his leathers and skin. He had gone straight to Rhys with the information, though he was still struggling to process it himself. Eve was waiting for him as he arrived. She had bathed and was wearing a unique version of Night Court attire, with lace covering the slivers of skin that would normally be left exposed.

"So, the Lady of Autumn, huh?"

"I know, I can hardly believe it. I was sure Beron would be behind it."

"The more I think about it, the more sense it makes. Feyre figured out Lucien's true parentage, which puts his mother at tremendous risk. She probably found out you've been meeting with Eris and assumed you were planning to use the information to destabilise their rule. Getting rid of Feyre and inciting a civil war to keep you occupied would buy her time."

He just nodded. He wasn't going to ask how Eve knew about Lucien, or their secret meetings with Eris. Or how she'd found out Lucien's mother was behind it when she hadn't been in the room when the prisoner confessed, come to think of it. He was fast coming to the conclusion that she was just omniscient.

 

"You're exhausted, and you reek of blood. I'll fetch you something from the kitchens while you bathe. I'm sure there will be something the twins managed to hide away from Cassian."

"I'm not hungry."

"I'm not asking."

She was gone before he could argue. His heart flipped for a moment thinking this might be her unique way of saying she was accepting the mating bond, but he was almost certain leaving a tray of leftovers for him wouldn't qualify. Gods, when did he go from exploring the bond to half-hoping she might accept it?

 

He peeled off the blood soaked leathers as he entered the bathing room; they hit the ground with an audible smack like he had come in from the rain, and he lowered himself into the steaming water. Torturing the male had left him significantly more gory than Eve had been. This was the part he hated. Over the centuries, he had started to derive a sick kind of satisfaction from pulling information from those who did not wish to give it, but it was always later, when the water in his bath turned red that he felt the guilt and shame that inevitably followed. And now he had dragged his mate into it. Perfect. He sighed and submerged his head.

 

He heard footsteps enter his rooms and a small clatter as a tray was placed on his desk. He surfaced and instinctively pulled his shadows around him in a vague semblance of modesty in case she should decide to stick her head around the door. He had fantasised about them sharing a bath together, and he wanted so badly to forget the day's trespasses and lose himself in her as he had so nearly done the night before, but he wouldn't take her for the first time in a bath tinged red with blood.

"I've left some bread and cheese on the desk, along with a carafe of wine."

Wine sounded like a gift from the Mother right now. "Thank you."

"Would I be correct in guessing that you've left your leathers in a blood-slicked pile on the floor like a savage."

He looked at the heap of leathers on the floor. "No."

"So yes, then. Do you want me to take them to the laundry room before Cerridwen has a fit?"

He laughed despite himself at the domesticity of it. Before he could answer, she opened the door and strode towards him, carafe in hand. She placed it and a glass on the edge of the bathing tub as if she had read his mind.

"How is it that one moment you are the literal incarnation of sin and cruelty, and the next you have me thinking you're heaven-sent?"

"I like to keep people guessing. And don't go getting all romantic on me, I just wanted an excuse to see you naked." She winked. He could blame the blush of his skin on the heat of the bathwater, but he wouldn't be fooling anyone.

"Thank you for today. It was... you were amazing."

She smiled at him - a genuine, soft smile. "I was afraid I would be confirming your worst fears about me, but we make a good team."  
He hesitated before speaking. "Sometimes I enjoy it. Enjoy is the wrong word, but I take pride in it. Does that make me a monster?"  
"If it does, then we both are."

She had scooped up his leathers and was almost out the door before he decided to borrow some of Rhys' confidence.

"So what's the verdict?"

"On what?"

"Me, naked."

Her fake, overly girlish swoon as she left had him laughing until his sides hurt, all notions of guilt long forgotten.


	13. An Important Decision

"They're calling you 'the Succubus'." Mor had arrived bright and early with gossip and fresh coffee. It had been two days since they had returned from the Hewn City - more than enough time for rumours to circulate. He walked into breakfast to find her and Eve chatting like old friends.

Rhys had dispatched a message to the Lady of Autumn the very night of their discovery, giving the ultimatum that either she ceased her hostilities towards Feyre and the court, or her shame would be broadcast to the four corners of Prythian. He had received her surrender within the hour, and all was right in the world once more.

"Ooh, I like that." Eve beamed. "I've had a few aliases over the years, but that one might be my favourite."

He rounded the kitchen island and was stunned for a moment to see that the long-sleeved black nightshirt was all she was wearing, leaving her long legs bare. Whilst that was more than distraction enough for him (and earned him a disapproving look from Morrigan), he also noted Eve's glamour was down, exposing her scars. She and Mor had apparently grown closer than he had thought.

"Your 'dungeon date' is the talk of the Hewn City. People are saying you have twisted Azriel's reputed penchant for torture into something truly profane, and it's renewed their fear of him, too. I heard one petrified noblewoman say that you are a goddess of death, and that you bathe in blood to stay beautiful. My father has his lackeys on alert to let him know the instant the two of you set foot in the Court of Nightmares. It's a triumph."

Ah, that explained the sudden change of heart - Anyone that put the fear of the gods into her father was an instant favourite with Mor.

"Is that all they're saying?" He asked, grabbing a mug for himself and refilling Eve's (she was one of the few people he'd met who took her coffee like he did - unsweetened and tempered with just a touch of milk). Knowing the Hewn City, there would be thousands of rumours flitting around by now - Mor's recounting would only be the murmurs reaching the surface. He would have to get the rest from his network of informants.

"I never would have taken you for a fan of idle gossip." Eve feigned surprise.

"Occupational hazard."

"Well, I also heard that 'the Succubus' believes females are the superior sex, and is only dallying with you until she can kill Rhys in his sleep and make the males of the court into the slaves they were always supposed to be. Not sure where the hell that came from."

Eve put her head in her hands while Azriel let out a low chuckle. "Eve might've given a little female empowerment speech to our captive."

Morrigan burst out laughing. "I think we are going to be fast friends. Feyre, Elain and I were going to go shopping for a dress for Starfall today before the meal this evening, would you care to join me?"

He had forgotten Starfall was only a few weeks away.

"I'm not sure if I'll have outstayed my welcome by Starfall, but I would be happy to help you pick something out."

Mor gave Azriel an accusatory look as if to ask why the hell she might think she would be going anywhere anytime soon. "Well, we can get us dresses for Starfall, and you a dress for when this poor excuse for a male finally locates his scrotum and takes you on a proper date."

Azriel looked sheepish as Mor continued to glare at him. "Gods, Mor, ok. Consider me suitably chastised."

Mor looked triumphant and Eve was frustratingly unreadable as they made their exit. So they would be gone for the day, which suited Azriel well. He had plans of his own that would keep him occupied.

 

\--

 

Azriel knocked nervously on the door of Amren's loft. He needed help, and Amren was best qualified for the task. Well, Mor might have been a passable alternative. But her inability to keep a secret - well, except her own - was famous (she blamed her 'power of truth', he blamed her affinity for scandal). Rhys and Cassian were too busy tying up the diplomatic ends of the Illyrian uprising, and would probably have been of little help anyway.

 

He wasn't ashamed to say that Amren still scared him a little, even after all the years he had known her, and even now she was fae. He wasn't looking forwards to the conversation, but could see no alternative.

"You want to buy the girl jewellery?" Amren asked, incredulous. He nodded. "What have you done wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Excuse the presumption, but when Rhysand requests my advice in this regard it usually means he has done something terrible or offensive and he needs to make amends."

He fought back a smile. That Rhys relied on Amren's exquisite taste to get him out of the doghouse was potentially valuable information.

"So what is the occasion."

He took a deep breath. "I want Eve to accept the mating bond."

Amren looked puzzled for a moment. "I had believed it was necessary to gift something edible." She lowered her voice as if talking to a simpleton. "Are you aware that fae females cannot digest precious gems?"

He rolled his eyes and wondered briefly if she was speaking from experience.

"Yes, Amren, I am well aware of that fact. I am also aware that Cassian once described my cooking as a war crime, and so thought it best to ensure she is not so offended by my offering that she gelds me before I even get to speak. I was hoping that pairing mediocre food with exceptional jewellery might help me achieve that."

Amren considered that for a moment. "I was under the impression that the female traditionally prepares the offering to the male."

"This female is far from traditional."

"Indeed she is." Amren's lips twitched at the corners, no doubt recalling the first time the Inner Circle met Eve. "I am aware it is considered impolite to talk about finances, but such precious commodities come at a steep price. Your brute brother barely has two coins to rub together. How much are you able to spend?"

"I put away ten percent of my salary, plus I have some additional savings from fleecing our beloved ruler at cards."

"Ten percent of your salary? Not bad." She mused. "For how long?"

"Since I was appointed my position."

Amren's eyes went wide as she calculated ten percent of almost five centuries of wealth. "Shadowsinger, there are entire nations with less coin than that in their treasuries. You could purchase a dragon's hoard with that fortune."

"I think you are underestimating how terrible my cooking is."

She flashed her teeth at him in what he believed was an approximation of a smile. "Give me an hour or two. I am sure I can find something suitable".

 

\--

 

He visited a few more shops gathering things here and there. Before leaving, Amren had suggested that he spend some of his apparently considerable coin on something edible to give Eve so that if she accepted him, she wouldn't have to be subjected to his attempts at the culinary arts. From what he had read, any proffered morsel would do. He had read of one female who had handed her mate an apple, and he had actually considered doing the same, but for a female who had shed blood for every scrap she had ever owned, anything less than perfection wasn't an option. Still, he knew her views on the mating bond had initially rendered it something akin to consensual slavery in her mind. He hoped that their time together had done something to assuage those qualms, but feared he might still be fighting an uphill battle. However, he had never dared to dream that he would find his mate, and when he found her he had almost ruined it by writing her off as a monster. He wanted to at least do this right.

 

He was headed for the patisserie that Mor swore made the most delicious pastries and cakes in Prythian... And bumped into the females on their way out of the door.

Mor broke the silence. "Rumbled." Azriel went stock still. "Rhys is going to kill you when he finds out you were going to gorge on cakes and ruin yet another family dinner."  

He was careful to conceal his relief as he exhaled. "Presumably somewhere in the back of this patisserie is Velaris' best kept secret of a dressmakers then, if you are all innocent?"

Feyre and Elain burst into giggles, and Mor stifled a laugh. Eve, meanwhile, maintained a perfectly straight poker face.

"What exactly are you implying?"

"You smell like crème patissiere, chocolate, and hypocrisy." He deadpanned.

"You can't prove anything. Come, ladies, we're on a mission. The spymaster and his flagrantly false accusations can wait until later." The others filed past her, and she flashed him a seductive smile as she walked away. His eyes followed her until she rounded the corner.

 

Azriel settled on a raspberry cream choux pastry with dark chocolate shavings that he was sure she would like, and would do minimal damage if she chose instead to hurl it at him. He hadn't figured out yet how he would get her away from the others to offer it to her, but he would think of something. All he knew was that it had to be tonight. He feared he would lose his mind if he had to go another day without having her. It wasn't just biology and instinct drawing them together anymore, though. Yes, he wanted her, so badly sometimes that it made him ache, and he was sure that she wanted him too, but despite the drama and tension of it all, he had also smiled and laughed more in the past few days than he could ever remember having done before.  The resulting lightness in his soul was more freeing than he could have imagined. They could be together without accepting the bond, and if that was what she wanted he would do it gladly, but the Cauldron had given them a gift in the mating bond, and he didn't want to waste it. Either way, she made him happy. He wanted to do the same for her, if she would let him, and he wanted to start as soon as possible.

Tonight.


	14. Finally, A Proper Date

Dressed in his finery again, Azriel waited nervously for her to arrive. This time, a pointed look from Amren had silenced any mockery from Cassian before it even began. He'd left her a note, requesting that she wear her 'date' dress tonight. As before, she was the last to arrive, though he thought she was just probably trying to make him sweat. Rhys was just looking like he might give up and call them in to be seated when Eve finally descended the stairs. 

The bodice and full sleeves were a black lace over a transparent mesh, with an unadorned section that ran the length of her torso down almost to her bellybutton giving the illusion of bare skin. The full black skirt trailed along the floor, the modesty of which was undone by a slit that went almost to the top of her thigh. She wore no makeup, save for a bold red lipstick that drew attention to her full lips. He was vaguely aware of Cassian's hissed expletives as Amren backhanded him and admonished him for drooling on the carpet, but mostly the world just faded away and there was only her.   
"So what do you think, is this adequate for a date?"  
"Only if it's your intention for us not to leave the house."  
She laughed lightly. "I had thought that was the plan anyway, family dinner and all?"  
That snapped him back on task. "Apologies for misleading you, but we actually won't be joining the Inner Circle for dinner this evening." The group began to protest but were silenced by a barked order from Amren to keep their noses out of other people's business.  
"Oh?"  
"Mor had a point this morning." He shrugged. Mor was currently being shepherded into the dining room alongside the others by a tiny, ancient fae who Azriel now undoubtedly owed something expensive. "A proper date was overdue. I took the liberty of making some arrangements for us this evening, if you'll accompany me?" He offered her his arm and silently prayed to gods that didn't exist anymore.  
She took it and he remembered to breathe. "Okay, Shadowsinger. Impress me."

\--

The evening was a whirlwind. They ate dinner in a simple but excellent restaurant by the docks where Azriel had known the owners for decades. They would have been overdressed for the usual clientelle, but Azriel had arranged for them to close for the evening and cater only to them. They had talked about everything and nothing. Afterwards, he had taken her to the theatre to watch an opera. Despite Eve's protests that the last time she had been in a theatre 227 people had lost their lives, he managed to get her to concede, and he had watched her reactions to the powerful music for the entire performance. When the assassin who guarded her emotions like a treasure had shed a tear at the tragic end, he had promised that next time he took her to see something, he would ensure a happy ending, to which she had taunted him about his certainty that there would be a next time. On the way home, she had stopped and danced with a group of street performers playing fiddles and drums. She had dragged him to join her and he hadn't objected (much). When he held her close to him as he flew them back to the House of Wind, he feared that she would hear his heart about to beat through his chest with nerves. 

"Something wrong with the front door?" He had landed on the library balcony.  
"No, I just thought it might be best to land somewhere private in case the lunatics haven't left the asylum yet." The clink of glasses from the floor below told him that he was right to do so.  
"And the balcony of my chambers or yours were out of the question because...?"  
He laughed nervously. "Not that private."  
She leaned in so her lips were almost touching his. "What have I told you before about being a gentleman?"   
She slid her knee between his legs and caressed his thigh with hers, clearly wanting to pick up where they had left off a few nights previous. He pulled out of her hold before his resolve melted completely and led her into the library proper.   
She looked hurt. "Is it because of this morning?" He looked puzzled. "I left my glamour down, but I thought... I thought that the scars didn't matter to you." Her eyes lined with silver.  
"Gods, no. That's not it at all." He sighed and pulled her down to sit with him. "This is all wrong. Just... I didn't want to get distracted before..."  
"Before what?"  
Now or never. "Before this." He pulled the box of pastries out of the pocket realm Rhys had crafted for him and been smart enough not to ask questions about. "I'm not good at the talking thing, so I promise I won't say much. I knew I wanted you the first time I saw you. I knew I liked you when we talked until the sun came up. I knew we were made for one another when you kicked both Rhys and Cassian's asses in under 10 minutes, and I knew I loved you when I was broken and you made me feel like I wasn't." He took a steadying breath, "You're scared to death of this mating bond, that it'll tie you to me in the way you fear most, so let's do it backwards. I want to tie myself to you instead. If you'll have me."   
She was silent and it terrified him. "Please say something."  
She didn't. She stood up and left the room. 

Hollow. He felt hollow. He didn't know if he had expected her to accept, or fly into a rage, or reject him outright, but the last thing he had expected was nothing. He didn't have a clue how to feel, so he didn't feel anything. He was just numb. He looked down at the box in his hand.

"You know, it was really inconvenient, you upending my night like that." she was leaning against the doorframe. Her words didn't register, and he couldn't bring himself to look directly at her. He thought if he did, he might turn to stone. She walked over and retook the seat beside him. He thought he would fall apart when she took his hand in hers, but confusion took over when he felt her place something in it. He looked down and his heart stopped. A perfect, miniature round cake with a yellow mirror glaze sat in his palm, topped with a meticulously crafted sugar flower. Even the dew on the petals looked real.  
"I was going to give it to you after dinner tonight. There are about 100 practice runs in the kitchens, but I wanted you to have the best one. Then you announced we were going out and ballsed it all up."  
"You made this?" She nodded. "And were going to offer it to me?" She nodded again. He thought he must be imagining this. She had never come back, it was his tortured mind playing tricks on him. It had to be. The real Eve feared being beholden to someone above all else, she would never willingly...  
"Az, I can practically hear the cogs in your mind turning as you rationalise this away. It's real. I want this. I choose you. I love you."  
He couldn't stop the tear from falling down his face as she said the words.

Eve broke the silence. "Well, the way I see it, we have four choices. You take a bite, and I'm yours. I take a bite, and you're mine. We both take a bite on the count of three, and we can belong to one another..."  
"What's the fourth option?  
"We sit here and cry while we stare at cake we made."  
He choked out a laugh. "I didn't make it."  
"You didn't? Then I'm taking mine back."  
"It's a kindness, trust me." He smiled at her. "Option three sounds good."  
"It does, doesn't it?"  
"So, on the count of three?" This was it. "One..." He started  
"Two..." She continued.  
"Three..."


	15. Ever Thine, Ever Mine...

He didn't really note the taste of what he ate. The moment was far too charged to pay attention to such basic concepts as flavour and texture. The deed was done, and they belonged to one another, or that's how it was supposed to go. He didn't know what he had expected. More of a thunderbolt? Nothing had noticeably changed. He felt the same - still caught up in her, still madly in love, still wanted to tear her clothes off, but no more so than he had before. From what Rhys had told him, and what he had read, they should be barely in possession of their wits after accepting the bond. The effects should be obvious; more than obvious. He wondered if perhaps the way they had done things had upset the natural order somehow. Or, worse, if maybe the chill of his shadows that killed his fertility also dulled the bond flaring into life - if it was his fault.

 

He didn't say anything, but Eve could always be counted on to speak her mind. "Wow, I thought there would be more... intensity? Sparks?" Even though he'd been thinking it himself, it made him feel inadequate that he was already failing to live up to her expectations. She seemed to pick up on his disappointment. "Maybe we should go somewhere? Spend a few days alone together, figure this out?" She suggested.

A weak smile. "That sounds perfect." The immediate threat was past, and Rhys couldn't object to his first request for time off in five centuries. Maybe they just needed time.

"Know anywhere?"  
"There are some options." Azriel didn't care where he went, as long as they were together.

"We should tell the others. So they don't come looking for us." She stood up and began to head for the dining room.

"Wait." He halted her. "Seeing as I didn't cook my offering, I got you something. In Feyre's culture, they mark a joining with a ring. I thought... Well, I hoped you would like this."

 

Amren had outdone herself. Where she had obtained such a wondrous item, he could only guess. Abyssal diamonds had all but faded into myth - legend said that they formed where daemons walked the earth millennia ago. He had only ever seen even the tiniest fragments of the stone: On a pair of delicate earrings Rhys' mother had worn for his coming of age ball. The smoky black stone in the centre of this ring was a half-inch diameter, and worth a king's ransom. It was flanked on either side by dark grey pearls set into a palladium band, and the metal curved around the pearls in the shape of Illyrian wings. It wordlessly laid bare everything he was, everything he wanted to give to her.

 

Her eyes were wide with shock. "Az, I can't accept this. This is too much."

"Please." He slipped the ring on her finger. It fit as if it was made for her hand. As his fingers lightly brushed hers, a jolt went through them both. It wasn't lust, not as they knew it, but pure, searing flame. The sensation was liquid fire in his veins and he could barely stand it.

"Enough sparks for you?" He breathed.

"Not even close."

 Their eyes met and he knew he was done for.

 

With impeccable timing, Mor burst through the door, with the others clamouring behind her to stop her. Eve pulled her hand away from his as she turned to face the intruders, and the absence of it felt like someone had torn his arm from it's socket.

"Amren finally told us! I'm so happy for you guys. Let me see the ring!" Mor's eyes were as wide as saucers. "Sweet Mother, is that an abyssal diamond?!"

Everything was dulled, like he was underwater or behind glass. Everything except his mate in front of him. He just needed to focus for a moment. Just a few seconds to say their goodbyes. He could do that. Then he could touch her again and everything would be alright.

 

"Mor..." Rhys cautioned. "Not now." He maintained a sizeable distance and kept his eyes low to the floor with a deference Azriel had never seen him show to anyone, least of all him. Had everyone lost their minds?

"Rhys, it's fine, what on earth are you..."

The wrath and jealousy hit Azriel like a wave, and he was physically knocked back a step as he fought to contend with the warring emotions. His shadows roiled and swarmed around him with icy rage of their own volition. He fought to rein them in, steady his breathing and stay rational, when every muscle in his body was screaming to turn his High Lord and any other nearby male into a fine paste. And Mor, it would seem - apparently the bond's possessive element didn't discriminate. "Oh."

"Yes, 'Oh' indeed. I remember it well." His gaze was still firmly locked on the floor. "Congratulations brother, but my own mate values my body parts exactly where they are, so I'm afraid the well-wishes and celebrations will have to wait. Take the palace above the Hewn City. It's yours long as you need it. Go, now."

 

Azriel didn't need telling twice. He grabbed Eve's hand, trying to push down the furious desire that burned at even that slight touch, and winnowed. He could hear Mor screaming _"that gods-damned ring must be worth more than half of Velaris!"_ as his shadows carried them away from prying eyes.


	16. The Palace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning! There is no actual plot advancement in this chapter, so if you're not a smut fan, feel free to skip.

Azriel brought them to the palace's guest suite. Even though they had been given leave to use the palace as their own, he thought it best to avoid Rhys' chambers - even if Rhys and Feyre rarely used them, traces of his scent might still linger there. He hated the territorial instincts that the bond had awakened in him - how they had made him think, what they had almost made him do... and that he had felt so powerless against them. They had rendered him practically feral. He hadn't feared the other base traits the bond would awaken before, but now he certainly did. Eve had been prey to men at the mercy of their primal urges in another life, one that she had fought tooth and nail to leave behind her, and it scared him to death that he might be no better than them. There was a bitter irony in the fact that one of the reasons he had wanted to accept the bond before they made love was because he was desperate for her to know that he wanted her for more than just sex - now he feared being a selfish or even violent lover because of it.

 

He pulled his hand from hers the instant he landed and used the moments when she inspected her surroundings to make for the decanter of brandy on the table.

"You know, all the surveillance I did on you guys, you never visited this place. It really is a palace." She cast a glance around. "These are the guest rooms?"

He was grateful for the safe topic of conversation. "Rhys' great-grandfather built it. He was, at the time, the most powerful being in the world. But appearances were everything to him, and he would always take appearing more wealthy and powerful to others over his own comforts. He had the guest chambers built to be even more opulent and extravagant than his own, and in the location with the best view."

He was hanging onto control of his faculties by a thread as he poured himself a brandy with a shaky hand. She was still looking around, now taking in the panoramic vista of the mountains offered by the open space, so he put all of his focus into keeping his voice even.

"The rooms are also spelled to look after the occupants." He took a sip of his brandy, hoping it might dull the edge. It may as well have been water.

"Like the cabin in the steppes?"

Of course she knew about the cabin. "Kind of. The spellwork is a little less sophisticated. Drinks are replenished, the water in the baths remains clean and warm, but it is not quite intuitive enough to anticipate all your needs." He tried - and failed - not to picture them entwined in those baths.

A seductive smirk lit up her face that immediately had him concerned. "Is that so?"

She sauntered casually towards the bathing room and as she walked, undid an invisible clasp at her neck. A shrug, and her dress fell to the floor with a light _swish_ , leaving her utterly naked (he would evidently need to buy her some underthings if he ever wanted to accomplish anything ever again). She gave him a look over her shoulder that was at once innocent and completely sinful before disappearing into the room.

He made himself count to five before following her.

 

"You were right. The water's perfect." Eve was already on the other side of the bathing pool, which looked out over a sheer drop on the mountainside. Her weight was on her forearms propped up on the rim, suspending her out of the water to the small of her back as she looked out into the night. There was no fear of the height of the fall - she should have been born Illyrian.

"Eve, I need to talk to you."

"So talk." She shrugged and the muscles in her back and bottom flexed in the most tantalising way. A low growl escaped his throat. He'd been hard since the library. By now, he was surprised there was enough blood left elsewhere in his body to keep him conscious.

"The not-naked kind of talking."

"That's my least favourite kind of talking."  
He sighed. "Eve..."

"Oh, Cauldron. Will you _relax_?!"

"I can't relax. That's the point." He yelled, actually _yelled_. "I don't know how this is for you, but I'm barely in control of myself right now."

"So lose control. What's the worst that could happen? We fuck?" His cock twitched at the vulgarity. "Isn't that the point of this romantic little retreat anyway?"

He couldn't bring himself to say the words. Luckily, he didn't have to.

She half-turned and sank lower into the water, not quite looking at him. "You think you'd hurt me." It wasn't a question.

"That, or..." He huffed. "I'm five hundred years old, Eve, I don't want to take you selfishly like some dumb brute, or quickly like a clumsy adolescent. You deserve better than that."

Her demeanour softened. "Come here."  
"Didn't you hear what I just said?"  
"Please." She turned around fully, resting her elbows on the lip behind her. The pose arched her back and pushed her breasts forward, and Azriel's last semblance of resistance crumbled into dust. Eve didn't bother to downplay her scrutiny as she watched him undress, and he felt her eyes on him even as he avoided meeting her gaze.

"Guessing the aphrodisiac in the mating offering wasn't strictly necessary." She mumbled, but had clearly intended for him to hear. He glared at her, but she just smirked.

As he descended the steps into the pool, she moved gracefully over to meet him. She gestured to the seat built into the edge of the pool - it was wide enough that it allowed the bather to recline without fully submerging themselves, so that the guest could enjoy the views. He perched on the edge, his feet draping into the deeper water.

 

He hissed as she eased herself behind him, wrapping her long legs around his back and lowering her calves over his thighs. He made to protest, but she chided him with a curt "Shh". Her breasts rested against the warm membranes of his wings in a way that made his toes curl, and he could feel the heat between her thighs torturously pressing at the base of his spine. He tried to move then, to put some distance between them, but her arms held his in restraint and her legs locked his in place.

"Do you remember when I said that I had been trained in pleasing winged fae?"

It had been impossible for him to forget that little fact. In that dank little cell, he had been in awe of how she had used the juxtaposition of pleasure and pain on that male's wings to bring him to his knees. Illyrians almost never permitted anyone to touch their wings, and aside from the odd tentative stroke or accidental brush, it was not something his lovers had ever done for him. Yet in his lonely moments since she had mentioned it, he had imagined her delicate fingers working their sensual magic on his own wings over and over.

Her lips were so close to his ear that he could feel them brush against his arch, sending a tingle down his spine as she spoke.

"Do you trust me?"

He nodded, the motion dragging her lips along his ear yet more.

She moved to release his arms but he stopped her. "I trust you. I don't trust myself."

"Don't worry, lover." Her legs squeezed his thighs hard enough that it almost hurt. "You're not going anywhere."

 

Her opening gambit was to run a wet finger down the crease where his right wing met his torso, mirroring the sensation by moving her lips against his ear. The room was silent save for the occasional drip and his stuttered exhale, which was signal enough for her to keep going. He wasn't prepared for the exquisite sensation of her hand splaying roughly against the broad expanse of his wing and massaging, slowly but firmly, as she pressed a hard kiss into his neck. His groaned curse echoed in the quiet; he was desperate to bury himself in her, and fought to break out of her grasp - every shred of discipline broken - but to his endless frustration, she held fast, not even wavering in her ministrations.

 

Eve's hands explored every inch of Azriel's wings - from bony frame to thinnest membrane - while she bit, licked, and teased his neck and ears. She worked her way methodically from his torso towards his wingtips, gently manoeuvring him with expert precision so that she could reach the next spot that would send him catapulting into ecstasy. Her deepening breaths against his skin and her writhing at his back were wanton and reckless, and it wasn't long before he was panting heavily and felt the signs of his impending orgasm. He wanted to tell her to stop, to slow down, but before he could choke the words out, he felt her tongue run a languid line from his shoulder to the digit at the tip of his left wing, the feeling more erotic than he could ever have thought possible. Her lips closed around the spot immediately before it and he felt her suck gently, sending him careening into the abyss and he shook with the violent rapture of his climax, his seed vanishing with the enchantments woven into the room.

 

He rasped, leaning bonelessly into her languid form at his back. "Do I want to know how you learned to do that?"

"One of our girls, Bellona, was Seraphim." He felt her smile against the back of his neck. "Your... considerable wingspan changes the mechanics a little, of course, but it's a lot easier without the feathers."

He was already hardening again. "If Cassian ever bothers you, just tell him you used to do that to other females. He won't leave his chambers for a week."

"I don't want to hear you talk about Cassian right now."

Her voice was low and husky as her teeth tugged at his ear lobe. She was going to be the death of him. He was a breathless, dishevelled wreck, but the rabid frenzy he had initially felt when the bond had settled over him had been dulled from thunderous and all-consuming to a roaring pulse, such that although every fibre of him was still screaming to touch her, he felt he could finally trust himself to be rational enough to keep himself in check.

 

Eve must have sensed the new ease in his demeanour. She unwrapped her legs from him and eased herself out of the pool, aware he wouldn't be far behind her. She had, however underestimated the speed with which he would follow. As she turned to give him a 'come hither' look, she found herself pressed firmly against the wall. Azriel kissed her voraciously. His frenzy had cooled somewhat, but his passion blazed as much as ever. One of his hands tangled in her hair while the other pulled her closer, arching her back and pressing her against him. His leg pressed between her thighs, the much-needed friction causing her to moan against his lips. He could feel that she was wet from more than just the baths, and he was dying to taste her, even more so to feel her wrapped around his length. His eyes almost rolled back into his head when she grabbed at his rear, grinding his hardness into her core, but he was (at least for now) capable of self-restraint again. He smiled against her lips; they would have to scrape her off the ceiling by the time he was done with her. He slid a hand between them, brushing his thumb against her clit as his finger dipped inside her. Her answering gasp was a thing of beauty, and when he added another finger and crooked them inside her, he thought he might devote the rest of his immortality to coaxing that sound from her. He had always been self-conscious of his scars with lovers before, and had used his hands as little as possible as a result, but he would give his mate every part of him. He broke from her lips to rove his down her throat, pressing bruising kisses against her pulse points and down her clavicle while his fingers curled and massaged in a punishing rhythm. He could feel her tightening around him - she was close. He brought his lips back to hers for a moment before pulling back from her, his forehead resting against hers. He wanted to see her face. He pulled his fingers entirely from her and plunged them back in, running them slickly across the nub at her apex as he moved. He did it once, twice more, and sent her tumbling over the edge. Her face was flushed and she was achingly beautiful as she cried out and he stroked her through the aftershocks.

 

Azriel didn't give her time to catch her breath. He kissed his way down her body, his lips brushing lightly against every scar on the way. He eased her leg over his shoulder, nestled against the inside of his wing as he pressed kisses to her inner thigh, resting her weight on him. The smell of her arousal so close was intoxicating, but he made himself take his time. There was no hint of self-consciousness from her as he knelt inches from her parted sex: Eve only looked down at him with brazen lust, and it was breathtaking. The first laps of his tongue were lazy and languid as he savoured her taste and watched her with fascination. Azriel was like a starving man at a feast as he devoured her, it could have been minutes or hours. The first time she moaned his name he thought he had misheard it, but the next time he heard a definite "Az" in a breathy sigh, he thought he would climax from the sound alone. Her hands twisted in his hair as she was brought to the precipice again. His fingers found their way back inside her as he sucked gently at her clit. Her standing knee buckled under her and he supported her weight at his shoulder as she came hard around him with an extremely unladylike string of curses.  

 

Her face was still glowing from her orgasm, and from his position was framed by the swell of her breasts, rising and falling with each laboured breath. Her eyes remained closed in apparent bliss. Azriel took a moment to appreciate the sight.

"You could commission a portrait." Her eyes were still closed.

"A portrait wouldn't utter such lovely profanities. And besides, that would mean allowing someone else into this rather coveted position." He kissed her thigh for emphasis. "They'll have to fight me for it."

"And me." She breathed a laugh. "Once my legs start working again."

He smiled against her thigh.

She stretched her back against the wall. "I knew you would be a considerate lover."

He bit her playfully, but almost hard enough to bruise. "Considerate. Not necessarily gentle."

She gasped. "Even better."

He lifted her then, her thigh still hooked over his shoulder, and carried her to the bed.

"Too gentle to take me against the wall, evidently." She said as he put her down. He began kissing her neck again.

"The night is young."

Eve stifled a yawn, but it didn't escape his notice. "Okay, that wasn't entirely the reaction I was hoping for."

"Take it as a compliment, you're wearing me out." She smiled. "I'm fine, where were we?" She sought his lips but he drew back.

He noticed for the first time that the sun had started to rise beyond the mountains. He eased himself off of her. "Sleep. We have all the time in the world. But I want your undivided attention later."

Her eyes were already drifting closed. "Deal".

He couldn't help but grin as he brushed a lock of hair from her face. "I know your secret now." He whispered  
"Hm?"  
"That you're completely useless after a couple of orgasms. I'll make sure to use that to my advantage in the training ring."  
She smiled at him sleepily. "Promise?"

He watched her for around an hour before sleep claimed him, too.


	17. Coitus Interruptus

Azriel woke to Eve's sinful lips running a trail of kisses down his abdomen. He was laid on his back, one wing draped over the edge of the bed and the other tucked under her.

"Finally. I was wondering when you'd wake up. 'Later' was at least 30 minutes ago."

He swore as her mouth closed around his cock. He could get used to being woken up like this.

A loud crack sounded in the upstairs chambers of the palace, making them both jerk up in response.

_Please don't kill me, but I need to talk to you both. Are you decent?_

Feyre? They both looked at one another. Azriel threw his head back on the pillow in frustration.

_Give us a moment_

They threw on enough clothes for basic decency and went upstairs to greet their High Lady.

 

Azriel was careful to stay back. He wasn't sure how the mating bond's territorial aspect affected females, if at all. Feyre hadn't mentioned anything, but he didn't want to risk setting Eve on her if he got too close. Not to mention he was riled at the interruption and didn't quite trust himself to be polite.

"I am so, so sorry to intrude like this. I know how much this time means for a mated couple. You know I wouldn't be here if the situation didn't demand it."

"Skip the platitudes. What situation?" Az winced at Eve's abruptness, but Feyre barely seemed to notice. Whatever it was that had happened, she was worried

"Looks like the Illyrian rebellion isn't quite as quelled as we had thought. Some of the more staunchly insubordinate factions are staging a last stand, with the supplies garnered from Autumn before they were cut off. They set up camp outside of Velaris a few hours ago. We have been looking for ways to end things with minimal bloodshed, but without our spymaster we're flying blind."

His blood ran cold.

"How many?" Eve's voice was calm and calculating.

"At least seven thousand." The Night Court's forces could easily handle that many, but there was a reason they had chosen Velaris as their battleground: They wanted to strike at everything the Inner Circle believed in, to raze their dreams to the ground.

Azriel spoke up at last. "What about Gerrick?" Gerrick was his second, and he would have resumed charge of Azriel's network of spies in his absence.

"Gerrick says your informants in the rebel camps went silent when Autumn's ties were cut. He presumes that the leadership got spooked and either shut out the informants, or..." Feyre trailed off. _'Or killed them'_ , she meant.

He sighed. Without his informants, they would be feeling their way in the dark.

"The bond is still raw. I wanted to kill Rhys yesterday - one of my closest friends. And you want me boots on the ground behind enemy lines, playing intrigue games with a bunch of misogynistic males who think women are only good for breeding and domestic work?"

It was one of a handful of times he had ever said so many words at once to Feyre, and the only time he had disagreed openly with her.

"You've.... consummated the bond now." She shifted uncomfortably. "It's not enough to alleviate the problem completely, but should be sufficient to let you tolerate the presence of other males if you're careful."

Azriel reddened. This was the last conversation he wanted to be having with his High Lady, but it was relevant. "We haven't...We're still getting to the consummating part." He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

Feyre's eyes went wide. "It's been 17 hours."

Eve flashed a proud smile and ran a hand up his torso, setting a blaze in it's wake. "My mate takes his time".

It was Feyre's turn to blush, but she stayed on task. "We're low on options. Az, it's Velaris."

Eve didn't give him the chance to protest further. "Gather the others. We'll meet you on the roof of the House of Wind in five minutes. That should give us an aerial view of the enemy encampment. We can talk logistics then."

Feyre looked relieved. "Thank you. Both of you." She winnowed to get the Inner Circle together, their leathers appearing in the spot she'd vacated.

 

As they dressed, Azriel was wracked with doubt.

"Eve, you know this is only going to end badly. Knowing my luck, you'll brush arms with Cassian on the terrace, I'll instinctively rip his arm off and beat him with the bloody end, and they'll have to knock me out before the fight even starts."  
"You won't forgive yourself if you don't go." She poured him a brandy and offered it to him. "Drink."

"It won't help."  
"Can't hurt either."

He smiled at that. "Velaris isn't your responsibility. I can't thank you enough for this."

"What's yours is mine now, that includes your duty and your court."

He took the drink from her. "Ready to knock me out if I do something treasonous?" He was only half joking.  
"It's a tough job, but someone has to do it." She smirked.

He downed the drink and winnowed them to the terrace.


	18. What Needs to be Done

They materialised and landed on the roof of the House of Wind. Mor, Amren, Rhys, and Feyre were waiting at the far end by the doors. Cassian was probably scrambling to assemble city defences. Azriel could feel the jealousy biting at him even from this considerable distance, and motioned to keep Eve behind him. Eve rolled her eyes and ignored him, striding towards the group.

"Eve, what on earth are you..." He started

"Feyre, my apologies in advance."

Eve marched up to Rhysand and launched herself at him, kissing him quickly but with no small amount of ferocity. As she pulled back, he looked at her like she had grown a second head. She gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and a wicked smile. "You're wasting your head start."

She moved aside to reveal Azriel practically frothing at the mouth. His scarred knuckles were white around the hilts of his blades, and his eyes spat pure, venomous fury the likes of which Rhys had never seen. Shadows churned and screeched around him like a violent storm made flesh, ringed by crackling blue flame from his siphons. He roared as he surged forward like winged death and descended upon Rhys in a whirlwind of blades. Rhys barely had time to draw his sword and parry the first blow.

They were a haze of winnowing, siphon flare, shadows, and darkness as they struggled. The clash of blades and Azriel's battlecry of pure wrath echoed in the night. Dust flew when they crashed into the terrace, and swirled back to the ground when they took to the skies again. The rest of the Inner Circle watched in stunned silence as the fight drew on. After several minutes, a bedraggled and bleeding Rhys landed, barely able to stand, and dropped his unconscious brother on the floor. Rhys was littered with cuts, what looked like frost burns, and what were definitely at least a few bite marks.

"Huh, my coin would have been on the pissed-off Shadowsinger." Amren mused.

"I didn't do this." Rhys panted. "We were mid-air when he just passed out."

"Sorry about that." Eve said. "I slipped a sedative into his drink before we left the palace and had to buy some time for it to kick in." They looked at her in utter disbelief. "What? 'Tall, Dark and Furious' over there was hardly going to be much help with the cloak and dagger, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let his mate wander into a camp with seven thousand males. Winnow him to his chambers, he'll be out for a few hours yet. I'll sneak into the lion's den and see what's to be done." She strode for the edge of the terrace, but paused for a moment and looked back. "You might want to restrain him in case I'm not back before he wakes." She dove from the terrace and disappeared in a hushed wisp of shadow.

 

\--

 

The Inner Circle waited in stony silence for Eve's return. Outside, rain lashed down in icy torrents, punctuated by flashes of lightning. Minutes had turned into hours, and dawn was approaching. Soon, the seething mass of warriors would descend on Velaris. Cassian had arrived around an hour previously, and after working through the night to ready the city defences, his stern presence only added to the tension. Azriel had awoken around 4am, and they were glad they had heeded Eve's advice and bound him. He had fought like a caged animal when he realised he couldn't scent Eve in the building and realised that she had gone alone. Even now, his shouts and screams occasionally echoed through the otherwise silent house.

Five sets of eyes converged on the doors as Eve crashed into the room. She was bloody and soaked, but her gait indicated no injury. Behind her, the rising sun illuminated the disarray of the camps. Most sections were either vacant or vacating, and yet others were ablaze. She flashed them a smile. "A drink for the new saviour of Velaris?" 

In the first hour, she had skulked in the shadows, observing and tallying. In the second and third, she posed as one of the camp whores, bringing drinks to the ranking officers and flirting to gather information. By the fourth, she formulated her plan.

 

She told the group how she had determined that they had enacted their own take on an old command system that she had seen used in parts of the continent. The system devolved responsibility for each unit of one hundred soldiers to one individual - a centurion. Illyrians prided themselves on their individual prowess, and so such a regimented system was unheard of in Illyrian culture - perhaps why they had got it wrong and not appointed a higher chain of command. Eve said she suspected it had been implemented partly because Cassian had led these troops and would know their command structures, immediately targeting those who led them to sow discord, but also to ensure that the forces had to be almost entirely wiped out before the destruction of Velaris would cease.

It was Mor who dared to ask. "So how...?" She gestured to the chaos that now stood in place of the orderly camps.

"I killed the centurions."

A beat of silence.

"All of them?" Cassian asked, incredulous.

Eve shrugged. "Sorry it took a little longer than planned."

Rhys did the maths. She had been gone seven hours. It had taken her three hours to plan and assemble facts, which meant she had located and killed, on average, one elite Illyrian warrior every three and a half minutes, all without drawing attention to herself. The remaining Illyrians would flee back to the steppes, giving Rhys' forces the chance to capture them and offer them terms of surrender. She had killed seventy men, but might have saved several thousand, not to mention Velaris.

Rhys' voice was uneven. "Eve, I don't know how to begin to thank you."

She seemed to ponder for a moment "You told Azriel your court has no need for an assassin. Is that still true?"

He looked at Feyre in that way he did when they were having an internal conversation.

"We're dreamers. We long for a world where that's the case, but tonight an assassin saved my dream, so maybe I should rethink our current requirements. Anything else?"

She didn't need time to think on this one. "No more interruptions. I don't care if the whole of Prythian's burning, I want a week undisturbed with my mate."

"Done. Speaking of my dear brother, you'll forgive me if I find myself elsewhere when you undo his restraints?" He absently rubbed a fading mark on his wrist where Azriel had apparently buried his teeth during their fight.

She smirked. "I think that might be wise. Once again, I'm sorry about that." She didn't look sorry at all.

"Extenuating circumstances call for desperate measures." Rhys shrugged.

Feyre grinned scandalously. "Next time there are extenuating circumstances involving our males, there could be oils of some kind could be involved."

Eve's answering smile was conspiratorial. "Great minds think alike".

"Ew." Mor was less of a fan. Amren was unreadable, Cassian was suppressing a laugh, and Rhys just rolled his eyes.

"You're wasting your head start." He smirked. Eve didn't need any more prompting.

 

Eve raced down the corridor to his rooms. Much as she was blessedly unaffected by the territorial part of the bond, she had felt his absence keenly since they had been apart; her desire for him was distracting to say the least, and taking a moment to rein in her lust had almost gotten her caught more than once before the night was out. That would take some getting used to for someone so independent, but now wasn't the time. She burst open the doors and flung herself on his prone form, a reunion kiss seeming at that moment far more important than undoing his bindings. Concern rushed through him as he scented the blood on her, then relief when he realised it wasn't hers. He returned her furious kisses, fighting against the spelled ropes that held him helpless. After a few moments, she finally remembered to unbind him, and as soon as he was free, he winnowed them back to the palace. They had some catching up to do.


	19. Where Were We?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skippable smut

"Az..."

He pushed her back against the bed and kissed his way down her neck, fisting one hand in her curls as the other started to unstrap her leathers. She let out a moan as he pressed his tongue to the pressure point at her throat.

"Az, there's blood in my hair."

His answer was moving to pull the zipper at her front down with his teeth.

She giggled. "Okay. Now there's blood in your hair."

Bedding her while wearing the blood of their enemies was far from idyllic. It was messy, and complicated, and kind of sinister... But wasn't that them in a nutshell? He had been so hung up on making sure everything was perfect, he had forgotten that they weren't. Their first kiss had been in the midst of combat. She had seen him naked for the first time in a bath tinged with blood of a fae they had tortured together. In context, this just felt right.

 

Eve sat up as he pulled her leathers down her back, running teeth and tongue across her now exposed shoulder, and fingers down her chest. As his scarred knuckle brushed against her nipple, she no longer cared about their circumstances either. A quick movement and a shift of her hips had her naked, but he was still frustratingly clothed. He moved to rectify the situation, but before he could undo the first buckle, she drew her dagger and sliced through the straps. She brushed his ruined leathers aside with a few rough swipes of her hand and sat astride him as she pulled him into a kiss, biting his lower lip and grinding her hips against him in a movement that made his eyes roll back. He could feel how wet she already was - days of foreplay were apparently taking their toll on her as much as him. His hand snaked between them. He barely had to touch her and she was moaning into his mouth. It would take barely a few passes of his fingers to have her coming apart on top of him, but she had other ideas. Her nail dragging down the inner ridge of his wing jolted him back to the moment, and she used his distraction to roll him on top of her, snapping their hips together and positioning him at her entrance. Her eyes met his in silent command. _Now_.

It was pure, unadulterated bliss as he buried himself in her, like nothing he had ever felt. He forced himself to still, to allow her to adjust (his past lovers had taken time to accommodate his size - one of the reasons he had always been so sensitive about comments regarding his wingspan), but Eve writhed impatiently. He was sure if he hadn't stirred she would have moved against him, using him for her own pleasure. She matched him thrust for thrust, her enthusiasm and eagerness for him almost as intoxicating as the feeling of her wrapped around his length. Her legs coiled powerfully around the back of his thighs, like she wanted every inch of his skin touching hers as they moved together. Her hands were everywhere: One moment in his hair, directing his kisses into the crook of her neck, the next on his ass, driving him deeper into her as she moaned.

Her fervour was incredible, but Azriel worried that if she kept this up he wouldn't last long, and he wasn't ready for this to end. He had to quench her desire at least a little, although the sensation and sounds of her climax would be sure to hasten his end as well. As a timely reminder, she lay a teasing nip at his jugular as her hand squeezed the curved top of his wing and he felt a telltale tightening at his groin. He manoeuvred himself higher on top of her, the new angle delivering delicious friction to her clit with every thrust. They would go over the edge together at least. As he felt her clench around him and her orgasm wrack through her, he tried something. He released some of his hold on his shadows, and the sharp, icy caress of them bit at his consciousness, distracting him momentarily. When he recovered from their intrusion, the waves of her pleasure had subsided, and (to his relief) the immediate threat of his finality with them.

  
Eve's legs disentangled from his, and she used the momentum to pull him from her. She knocked him back onto his knees and climbed atop him, plunging him ruthlessly back into her. Her position gave her new leverage and she rode him wantonly. Azriel dared a delicate caress of his cold shadows across her nipples and the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, and he smiled into her neck at her stuttered gasp. She shifted so that her breasts rubbed against his chest as they rose and fell. It didn't take long before he felt the renewed signs, and his eyes met hers to seek out if she was with him. She responded by wordlessly reaching between them, her lithe fingers simultaneously squeezing the base of his shaft and brushing against her own clit, the unexpected hunger of the motion causing him to burst inside her as she brought herself off on him. He sagged against her chest as she panted into his hair, both finally sated. At least, for now.

"So, what else can those shadows do?"

He huffed a laugh. "I don't know. I've never used them like that before."

"We have a week to find out."

"Only a week?" His lips found her neck again and he was already hardening again inside her. "We'd better make a start."


	20. A Place in the World

Rhys had kept his word, and they had remained undisturbed for a whole week, and Azriel was fairly sure he was never going to be able to set foot in any room in the palace again without his memories going into overdrive. Or the dungeons beneath the Hewn City, where certain spelled chains were put to very innovative use. Or near Rhys' throne (Eve had reasoned that they were both skilled in the arts of stealth and keeping secrets. It had been an extremely convincing argument at the time). Regardless, after a week that had felt altogether too short, they had returned to the Inner Circle.

 

Feyre had been right. Once the bond had been consummated, Azriel did find it easier to tolerate being with Eve around other males. Although it was still incredibly difficult for the first few days, the fact that the only males around were ones he would trust with his life had helped him to adjust. It also helped that he knew that Eve would almost certainly rebel if he started acting territorial, and he didn't want to test her - especially after her little stunt with Rhys. Despite his having apologised repeatedly for attacking him, Rhys was still a little jumpy in his presence, and having a High Lord of Prythian walking on eggshells around him was as weird as it was unnerving. Azriel himself had no memory of the fight thanks to whatever it was Eve had slipped into his drink, but he didn't think Cassian was ever going to let it drop that he had actually sunk his teeth into his High Lord. 

 

As the professional elements of Azriel's life returned to normal, Eve settled in to her new role in the Night Court. Mostly it consisted of training his High Lord and Lady to defend themselves from assassination threats, helping Cassian implement training regimens for the females in the Illyrian camps, and scaring the living daylights out of Keir and his cronies at the Hewn City. Occasionally when Azriel's spy network identified a problem that diplomacy couldn't solve - such as a slaver operating out of Scythia, or a tyrannical former ally of Hybern getting too close to finding the Cauldron - her more unsavoury talents were put to use. But when she returned from one of those such missions, she wasn't met with judgement or fear, but with a family who understood. Azriel wasn't any more disturbed by the blood on her hands than she was by the secrecy and paranoia engendered by his work.

 

A few weeks later, they had gathered on the terrace of the House of Wind. Azriel and Eve had moved into one of his old safehouses on the coast of Velaris that Eve had seen during her time spying on them and taken a liking to. It was simple and plain, but had breathtaking views of the ocean and access to a secluded area of beach where the sand seemed to glow under the starlight. The House of Wind had been Azriel's home, and it was strange to walk through it's door as a visitor. His memories of those first days with Eve, and especially of the charged moments when they had promised themselves to one another, had overwhelmed him as he walked past the library. Eve squeezed his rear in a way that said her memories were evoking a different but equally positive reaction, and he caressed her under her dress with his shadows in response.

"So how long do we have to be sociable before we can sneak out? We could visit the library, there's something I fancy checking out."

He chuckled. "It's Starfall. The main event is imminent, but traditionally, we spend the whole night dancing as the spirits descend around us." Her fingers slid casually up the inner fold of his wing, obscured from prying eyes. "Although I'm sure we wouldn't be missed if we snuck away for a few minutes."

"Only a few minutes?"

She dragged her nail down the membrane, causing him to shudder.

"I bet you're one of those monsters that folds down the page corners." He murmured into her hair.

She playfully swatted him on the arm. "Says the vile demon that leaves his bloody leathers on the floor."

"Then we're a perfect match." He pulled her in for a swift kiss. "Look up."

 

His gaze was fixed on her as she watched the falling stars with wonder. Cynicism came more naturally to Eve than hope, but Azriel knew that there was a dreamer inside her somewhere. It might take time, but they had forever, and the stars were listening.

 


End file.
